COUNTRY 
BOY 

^K  EDGAR 
SELWYN 


3. 


WESTMINSTER  GARDEN* 


THE  COUNTRY  BOY 


OP  CALIF.   LIB^AFY.   T-OS  AKCF.TJBS 


THE 
COUNTRY 


Charles 
Sarver 


it>m  the  play  b^ 

Edgar  5elwyn 

N  E.W  YOR.K 
THE   H.K.FLY  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS      .     n 

II  STEEPLES  AND  SKY-SCRAPERS     .     .     .     .     18 

III  THE  JUDGE  HAS  A  BAD  COLD    ....     24 

IV  FIVE  DOLLARS  A  WEEK 30 

V    THE  JUDGE  SIDE-STEPS 40 

VI    "  KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS  " 53 

VII  A  TRIUMPH  FOR  WOMAN  SUFFRAGE       .     66 

VIII  JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE    ...     73 

IX    THE  PROMISED  LAND 93 

X    MILK  AND  HONEY 103 

XI    AMY  LER.OY 118 

XII  JIMMY  MICHAELSON  SCORES     .     .     .     .127 

XIII  UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS 140 

XIV  THE  VERDICT 154 

XV  Miss  DUNSTAN'S  WATERLOO    .     .     .     .161 

XVI    FRIDAY,  THE  THIRTEENTH 171 

XVII  MERKLE  MAKES  CONVERSATION     .     .     .181 

XVIII  A  LETTER  FROM  HOME  .     .     .     .     .     .   190 

XIX    TOM  ASKS  QUESTIONS 198 

XX    THE  GAS  ROUTE 208 

XXI  THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM     .     .  220 

XXII  MERKLE'S  SHIP  COMES  HOME  ....  243 

XXIII  THE  INVASION  OF  FAIRVIEW     ....  249 


2132637 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIV 
XXV 

XXVI 

XXVII 

XXVIII 


TOM  GOES  WALKING     .... 
BELKNAP  SENDS  His  COMPLIMENTS 
JANE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY  . 
BY  A  TWO-THIRDS  VOTE     .      .     . 
JANE  MAKES  IT  UNANIMOUS    .     . 


PAGE 
.  260 
.  271 
.  282 
,  292 
,  300 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  I'm  not  engaged  to  Hez,  and  —  "  .      .      .     Frontispiece. 

PAGE 

"  I  give  my  boarders  the  very  best  there  is  —  for  the 

price,"   she   qualified     .  130 

"  If  you  want  to  talk,  you'll  have  to  do  it  in  the  dark  "  246 
"  Will  you  let  me  kiss  you  ?  "  she  faltered  ....  297, 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS 

FARMER  HEMINGWAY  draped  his  lean  body 
over  the  barnyard  gate  and  gazed  expectantly 
down  the  main  road  towards  the  lake.  At  a  re- 
spectful distance  from  Farmer  Hemingway's  heavy 
boots,  a  gaunt  black  sow  and  her  puny  black  nurs- 
lings grunted  in  various  keys  of  impatience.  The 
black  sow  kept  a  ravenous  eye  on  an  ear  of  corn, 
which  protruded,  big,  yellow  and  tempting,  from 
the  rear  pocket  of  the  farmer's  overalls.  The  ten 
runts  manoeuvred  for  position  along  her  flanks  as  she 
moved  uneasily  to  and  fro. 

It  was  a  perfect  morning  in  mid-autumn,  a  morn- 
ing fit  to  charm  the  hearts  of  pigs  and  men  from 
temptations  of  hunger  and  avarice.  Clear  up  to 
the  turquoise  horizon  rolled  pasture  and  stubble- 
field,  dotted  with  white  farmhouses.  Here  and 
there  the  low  hills  were  crowned  with  woodland, 
where  brilliant  ochres  and  deep  purples  blended 
softly  under  the  yellow  rays  of  the  October  sun,  al- 
ready some  hours  high.  A  smell  of  baked  earth 
rose  to  the  nostrils.  Across  the  road  a  flock  of  red- 
winged  blackbirds  wheeled  and  lighted  in  the 
meadow  with  great  chattering. 


12  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Shifting  his  eye  ever  so  slightly,  Farmer  Hem- 
ingway, from  where  he  leaned,  might  have  centered 
in  his  field  of  vision  the  rippling,  blue  lake,  five 
miles  to  the  eastward.  Over  his  left  shoulder  lay 
the  pleasing  prospect  where  the  village  of  Fairview 
notched  the  sky-line  with  its  dozen  steeples,  three 
miles  away. 

But  Farmer  Hemingway's  senses  were  not  at- 
tuned this  morning  to  the  harmonies  of  Autumn. 
He  had  other  fish  to  fry.  A  mile  from  the  barn- 
yard gate,  the  road  ran  for  a  short  distance  along 
a  hillside  in  plain  view,  then  dipped  down  again  out 
of  sight  in  the  valley.  It  was  on  this  stretch  of 
road  that  Farmer  Hemingway  strained  his  keen, 
gray  eyes.  Each  moment  his  ears  assured  him  of 
the  continued  attendance  of  the  black  sow  and  her 
litter,  unconscious  accomplices  and  destined  victims 
of  a  dark  design,  in  making  ready  for  which,  he  had 
robbed  the  sow  of  her  breakfast.  His  olfactories 
were  occupied,  with  the  full  flavor  of  plug  tobacco. 

Long  minutes  passed.  Farmer  Hemingway's 
satellites  grew  more  hungrily  obstreperous.  A! 
frown  gathered  on  Farmer  Hemingway's  brow. 
He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  big  silver  watch,  by 
which  existence  on  the  Hemingway  acres  was  meas- 
ured. His  lips  moved  as  he  conned  the  formula  on 
which  his  plot  and  his  hopes  of  booty  were  based. 

"  Five  miles  to  the  lake.  Six  miles  around. 
Five  miles  back  —  at  thirty  miles  an  hour."  That 


SLAUGHTER    OF   THE   INNOCENTS      13 

was  Tom  Wilson's  average  gait,  and  Farmer  Hem- 
ingway, his  ambuscade  all  prepared,  had  reckoned 
on  it.  What  could  the  matter  be? 

It  was  more  than  half  an  hour  since  Judge  Bel- 
knap's  shiny,  new  automobile  had  passed,  outward 
bound  from  Fairview,  with  Tom  Wilson  at  the 
steering  wheel  and  the  Judge's  pretty  daughter  at 
his  side.  If  Tom  and  Jane  were  taking  their  usual 
morning  spin  around  the  lake,  they  were  over-due 
back.  Farmer  Hemingway  knew.  He  had  made 
it  his  business  to  observe  their  motoring  habits. 

Up  the  silent  valley  floated  a  low  rumbling,  faint 
as  a  distant  drum.  Farmer  Hemingway's  weary 
eyes  brightened.  By  that  token  he  knew  that  Tom 
Wilson  had  thrown  out  his  muffler  to  take  the  hill 
at  speed.  The  sound  came  sharper.  There  was 
a  flash  of  red  along  the  brown  hillside.  Farmer 
Hemingway's  loosely  hung  members  assembled 
themselves  for  quick  action.  There  was  no  time  to 
waste,  for  Tom  Wilson  was  driving  furiously. 

With  one  swift  motion  the  rickety  gate  was 
thrown  open.  The  black  pigs  looked  up  in  alarm, 
ready  to  stand  or  bolt  as  his  next  move  should  de- 
termine. He  flung  down  the  fat,  yellow  ear  on  the 
spot  where  he  had  been  standing. 

For  a  moment  the  black  sow  eyed  him  with  sus- 
picion. Then  hunger  triumphed  over  maternal 
misgivings.  With  sharp  grunts  of  satisfaction  she 
bore  down  upon  the  tempting  morsel,  her  ill-fated 


i4  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

progeny  tumbling  after.  Fan^.r  Hemingway  cir- 
cled to  the  rear,  half-crouched  there  and  waited, 
with  both  ears  cocked. 

From  around  a  bend  in  the  road,  screened  by 
foliage,  came  the  hum  and  splutter  of  a  motor,  a 
sharp  Honk-Honk,  hardly  one  hundred  yards  away. 
A  moment  longer  and  then,  waving  his  long  arms, 
Farmer  Hemingway  charged  down  upon  the  doomed 
family. 

The  litter  scattered  before  him.  The  black  sow 
grabbed  up  the  ear  of  corn  and  rushed  after,  out 
into  the  highway.  The  automobile,  clear  of  the 
bend,  thundered  down  upon  them  at  top  speed. 

To  the  ears  of  Farmer  Hemingway,  crouching 
behind  the  gate,  came  a  shout,  a  girl's  shriek,  a 
chorus  of  appalling  squeals,  cut  short  by  thuds  as 
the  car  swept  by  under  brakes.  The  air  seemed 
full  of  flying  pigs.  Almost  at  the  moment  of  con- 
tact, Tom  had  swerved  into  the  ditch,  thereby  avoid- 
ing collision  with  the  heavy  sow,  but  multiplying 
her  items  of  bereavement.  He  straightened  out  his 
machine  and,  as  it  slowed,  looked  over  his  shoulder 
to  take  note  of  casualties.  The  girl  jumped  from 
her  seat,  and,  standing  with  her  hand  on  Tom's 
shoulder,  stared  back  with  a  white  face. 

Farmer  Hemingway  rushed  out  into  the  road  with 
an  oath. 

"  You'll  pay  for  this,  Tom  Wilson.  You'll  pay 
well  for  this,"  he  screeched  in  well  simulated  anger. 


SLAUGHTER    OF    THE   INNOCENTS      15 

"  The  finest  bred  Berkshires  in  New  York  State,  and 
you've  killed — "  he  stopped  to  count  heads  and  to 
catch  his  breath.  Five  pitiful  little  black  bodies 
were  scattered  along  the  roadside.  The  five  sur- 
vivors had  fled  to  their  mother's  side.  The  black 
sow  was  munching  the  last  of  the  fatal  ear. 

Tom  Wilson  grinned  sweetly  at  the  irate  farmer. 
Tom  couldn't  pay  for  anything  and  nobody  knew 
it  better  than  Hemingway. 

"  Come  and  see  me,"  he  cried  amiably.  "  And 
be  sure  you  come  during  office  hours.  And  by 
the  way,"  he  went  on,  his  face  sobering,  "  your  al- 
leged Berkshires  came  mighty  near  wrecking  Judge 
Belknap's  new  machine.  Better  keep  them  off  the 
public  highway,  or  you'll  have  a  score  to  settle  with 
him." 

Farmer  Hemingway  strode  up  to  the  rear  of  the 
automobile. 

"  My  hogs  were  safe  on  these  roads  long  before 
you  new-fangled  road-hogs  came,"  he  cried,  his 
voice  shrill  with  real  anger  now.  "  And  here  they 
stay.  And  if  I  did  wreck  Belknap's  machine,  and 
he  could  prove  it,  I  reckon  I  could  pay  the  damage 
a  dern  sight  quicker  than  you  can  pay  for  them 
hogs." 

Tom's  smile  vanished.  It  was  odiously  different 
—  this  thing  of  not  being  able  to  pay  —  the  way 
Hemingway  put  it.  The  farmer  saw  he  had 
scored.  He  went  on: 


16  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  You  pay  for  them  Berkshires  I  Haw !  Haw ! 
I'd  be  an  old  man  waitinV  He  leered  maliciously 
at  Jane,  who  had  resumed  her  seat,  turning  her  back 
to  him.  "  I  guess  she  don't  pay  you  much  in  the 
way  of  salary  for  drivin'  this  machine  around,  and 
I  never  heard  that  you  could  do  anything  else." 

Tom  Wilson  was  on  the  ground  before  Heming- 
way had  fairly  finished,  his  fists  clenched,  his  face 
scarlet.  He  was  furious,  not  so  much  at  what 
Hemingway  had  said,  as  at  the  evil  suggestion  of 
the  man's  tone  and  manner.  Besides,  he  had  just 
been  humiliated  before  Jane,  and  it  was  no  less  a 
pleasure  than  a  duty  to  pummel  the  detractor. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  demanded 
hotly. 

"  Oh,  nothin',  nothin',"  stammered  Farmer  Hem- 
ingway, backing  away  before  the  athletic  youngster. 
"  I  never  expected  you  to  pay  for  them  hogs.  No, 
sir-ee.  I  expect  Judge  Belknap  to  pay.  He's  al- 
ways paid  before  and  he'll  pay  again  or  I'll  have 
the  law  on  him.  You  tell  him  for  me  I'll  be  around 
this  afternoon  to  collect." 

Tom  controlled  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  You  manage  your  own  collections,  and  keep  a 
civil  tongue  in  your  head  while  you're  about  it,"  he 
said  shortly,  and  climbed  back  into  his  seat. 

The  girl  had  heard  everything  in  silence.  She 
hadn't  even  turned  her  head  when  Tom  leaped  from 
the  car. 


SLAUGHTER    OF    THE   INNOCENTS     175 

The  car  started,  gathered  speed,  disappeared 
around  the  next  curve,  leaving  Farmer  Hemingway 
to  gather  up  his  dead  and  curse  the  survivors,  and 
Tom,  and  the  luck  which  had  deprived  him  of  half 
the  expected  profits  of  his  coup. 


CHAPTER  II 

STEEPLES   AND   SKY-SCRAPERS 

TOM  WILSON  drove  on  toward  the  village  at 
a  moderated  speed. 

"  Poor  little  black  things,"  said  the  girl  presently. 
"  Do  you  know,  I  more  than  half  believe  Heming- 
way drove  those  pigs  out  into  the  road  on  pur- 
pose? " 

The  youth  did  not  reply.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  two  and  twenty  years,  Tom  was  submitting  him- 
self to  the  ordeal  of  five  consecutive  minutes  of 
hard  thinking.  Like  Jane,  he  had  considerably 
more  than  a  vague  suspicion  of  the  trick  Heming- 
way had  played.  The  farmer,  in  his  anger,  had  let 
slip  more  than  he  intended.  Besides,  this  would  be 
by  no  means  his  first  successful  assault  on  Judge  Bel- 
knap's  pocketbook.  Several  days  before,  certain 
fancy-priced  chickens  had  appeared,  as  if  by  magic, 
near  that  same  barnyard  gate.  The  Judge  had 
paid  the  bill  in  a  manner  somewhat  emotional. 
"  And  it  must  be  the  last,"  was  his  ultimatum. 

But  it  was  an  unprecedented  sense  of  his  own  im- 
pecuniosity,  rather  than  the  impending  impoverish- 
ment of  Judge  Belknap's  purse  and  temper,  that 
18 


STEEPLES  AND  SKY-SCRAPERS       19 

now  sat  heavy  on  Tom  Wilson's  soul.  The  feeling 
of  dependence  had  never  been  a  pleasant  one.  To- 
day it  rankled.  Farmer  Hemingway's  scornful 
"  Haw!  Haw!  "  was  still  tingling  in  his  ears.  To 
be  held  fair  game  by  Hemingway !  Tom's  blue  eyes 
clouded  with  anger  at  the  humiliating  recollection. 

And  Jane!  Tom  dimly  remembered  that  she 
had  made  some  remark,  to  which,  in  his  pre-occu- 
pation,  he  had  failed  to  reply.  What  must  she  be 
thinking?  He  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
she  was  looking  him  over  with  those  calm,  contem- 
plative eyes  of  hers.  He  hazarded  a  swift  side- 
long glance.  Jane  was  discreetly  absorbed  in  the 
familiar  scenery  ahead,  on  the  lookout,  maybe,  for 
more  irruptions  of  pigs  or  chickens. 

Tom  looked  ahead  too,  and  beheld  Fairview, 
dozing  in  the  morning  sun  —  a  village  where  noth- 
ing happened.  He  took  cognizance  of  its  dozen 
steeples  and  groaned  in  spirit. 

Now  Fairview,  to  the  unprejudiced  eye,  was,  and 
is,  a  prepossessing  village  enough,  one  that  lived  up 
to  the  promise  of  its  name.  With  its  one  wide 
business  thoroughfare,  where  the  life  of  the  village 
centered;  with  its  quiet,  shaded  residence  streets,  all 
laid  out  at  decent  right  angles  and  lined  with  pretty 
cottages  and  green  lawns  and  beds  of  flowers;  with 
its  ornate  library  (Judge  Belknap's  gift),  its  com- 
bination town  hall  and  opera  house,  and  its  sub- 
stantial schoolhouse  —  not  forgetting  the  dozen 


20  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

steeples  and  their  attached  churches  —  Fairview 
was,  and  is,  as  charming  a  village  as  the  hearts  of 
its  five  thousand  villagers  could  desire. 

But  Tom  Wilson  was  not  a  villager  at  heart. 
Fairview  did  not  count  for  much  in  his  dreams  of 
the  future.  It  was  a  good  enough  place  to  be  born 
in,  or,  perchance,  to  bring  up  one's  mother  in.  But 
it  was,  beyond  dispute,  a  humdrum,  unenterprising 
place;  no  place  at  all  to  carve  one's  fortune  out  of. 
So  Tom  had  never  tried.  It  had  been  his  ambition 
to  go  to  New  York  and  do  "  something  big,"  where 
big  things  were  a  part  of  the  day's  work;  where,  to 
see  a  steeple,  one  must  climb  on  top  of  a  sky- 
scraper and  look  down,  and  then  around.  Fair- 
view  presented  no  opportunity  to  a  man  of  parts. 
Tom  panted  for  a  larger  arena. 

As  he  grasped  the  steering  wheel  in  his  strong, 
bare  hands,  Tom  could  feel  under  his  arm  a  letter, 
which  crackled  in  his  inside  pocket.  It  had  come 
yesterday  from  an  old  friend  of  his  father's,  Dick 
Kennedy,  now  Richard  B.  Kennedy,  general  pas- 
senger agent  of  one  of  the  great  trunk  railroads 
stretching  from  New  York  half  way  across  the  con- 
tinent. Dick  Kennedy  had  been  a  Fairview  boy. 
To  Richard  B.  Kennedy,  G.  P.  A.,  Tom  had  writ- 
ten ten  days  before,  asking  for  a  place  in  his  office. 
To  his  father's  old  friend  he  had  confided  his  vi- 
sions of  a  metropolitan  career  and  offered  first 
chance  to  finance  it  in  its  launching. 


STEEPLES  AND  SKY-SCRAPERS       21 

The  reply  had  been  kindly,  even  encouraging  in 
tone,  but  disappointing  in  its  figures.  Tom  had 
quickly  decided  that  the  cheap  clerkship  it  offered 
was  hardly  worth  considering.  When  the  time 
came  to  go  to  New  York,  he  would  sooner  take  his 
chances.  He  hadn't  even  mentioned  the  letter  to 
his  mother.  Tom  did  not  remember  his  father. 
If  he  had  been  alive,  Tom  would  have  liked  to  talk 
it  over  with  him,  for  the  letter  had  been  rather 
puzzling.  Now  he  wondered  what  Jane  would 
think  about  a  metropolitan  debut  at  $15  a  week. 

That  young  person  suddenly  woke  out  of  a  rev- 
erie of  her  own,  and  said: 

"  Tom.  Please  drive  to  the  house.  I  must  get 
a  book  and  return  it  to  Bessie  Caldwell,  at  once." 

"All  right,"  replied  Tom.  "Bessie  Caldwell 
shall  have  her  book  as  soon  as  gasoline  can  fetch 
it." 

"  Guess  I'd  better  speak  to  mother  about  Ken- 
nedy," he  said  to  himself,  and  so  put  the  whole  af- 
fair comfortably  out  of  mind.  He  knew  his 
mother  would  never  willingly  consent  to  his  going 
to  New  York. 

He  threw  open  the  throttle.  "  Easy,"  said  Jane, 
as  they  raced  into  Main  street,  "  we've  killed 
enough  animals  for  one  morning.  Beware  the 
dog." 

The  dog  dodge'd  and  Tom  chuckled,  his  serious 
mood  vanished.  "  I'd  like  to  be  around  when 


22  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Hemingway  calls  on  your  father  this  afternoon," 
he  said.  "  I  believe  that  was  all  a  game  of  Hem- 
ingway's, and  the  Judge  is  likely  to  lay  down  the 
law  to  him.  It  would  be  worth  hearing." 

"  Yes,  and  we  -may  both  be  put  on  the  witness 
stand,"  said  Jane,  in  tones  of  reproach.  "  Better 
not  be  too  eager  about  it,"  she  warned  him. 

Tom  smiled  at  her  cheerfully. 

Now  Tom,  even  in  his  moments  of  humiliation, 
was  not  a  figure  to  inspire  austere  and  unforgiving 
sentiments  in  the  breast  of  any  maiden  still  in  her 
'teens,  let  alone  Jane  Belknap.  Humiliation,  be  it 
ever  so  cruel,  does  not  instantly  mar  a  fine  profile, 
and  Tom's  profile  was  of  a  sort  that  any  driver  — 
his  eyes  on  the  road,  his  lady  at  his  side  —  might 
use  to  his  advantage.  Five  minutes  of  self-abase- 
rnent,  be  it  ever  so  bitter,  does  not  materially  im- 
pair the  hue  and  texture  of  fair,  wavy  hair,  or  mot- 
tle a  summer's  coat  of  healthy  tan.  With  such  was 
Tom  endowed. 

But  Tom's  smile  was  his  best  asset.  It  was 
sunny,  appealing,  irresistible.  When  he  turned  it 
on  Jane,  she  melted,  and  gave  it  back  to  him. 

"  Never  mind,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  It  wasn't 
really  your  fault.  It  was  only  your  clever  driving 
that  saved  the  machine,  and  maybe  me,  too,  and 
father  shall  know  it.  I  guess  he'll  save  his  breath 
for  Hemingway." 

And  they  drove  up  to  the  Hemingway  mansion 


STEEPLES  AND  SKY-SCRAPERS       23 

—  it  v.  as  the  only  dwelling  in  Fairview  that  fulfilled 
the  Fairview  definition  of  a  mansion  —  merry  over 
the  prospective  discomfiture  of  Farmer  Heming- 
way. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  JUDGE  HAS  A  BAD  COLD 

AT  about  the  time  Tom  Wilson  was  holding  bit- 
ter communion  with  himself  out  on  the  Fair- 
view  road,  Judge  Belknap,  alone  in  his  house,  was 
exercising  some  neglected  brain  cells  on  his  own  ac- 
count, and  finding  the  effort  more  interesting  than 
agreeable. 

"  Confound  that  doctor,"  he  growled.  "  Why 
couldn't  he  keep  his  mouth  shut?  " 

The  Judge  had  been  kept  in  the  house  for  a  day 
or  two  by  a  severe  summer  cold.  He  was  bearing 
his  confinement  impatiently,  and  Dr.  Downing, 
when  he  called  that  morning,  had  thought  it  ad- 
visable to  admonish  him. 

"  Your  illness  is  nothing  to  be  alarmed  about 
now,"  said  the  physician  in  a  tone  that  suggested 
that  it  might,  in  good  time,  become  very  alarming 
indeed.  "  It  is  a  simple  indisposition,  very  simple, 
indeed;  but,  if  neglected" — he  held  up  a  warning 
hand  — "  I  say,  if  neglected,  it  may  result  in  seri- 
ous complications."  He  took  up  his  hat  to  go. 
"  Very  serious,  indeed,"  he  added,  and  went. 

The  Judge  was  guilty  of  no  neglect,  but  compli- 
cations resulted,  just  the  same,  and  they  proved  sur- 
24 


THE  JUDGE  HAS  A  BAD  COLD       25 

prisingly  contagious,  which  Dr.  Downing  with  all 
his  science  could  never  have  prognosticated.  They 
involved  several  persons  more  seriously  than  the 
Judge,  who  dutifully  took  advice,  and  came  off 
rather  easily.  Tom  Wilson,  who  never  took  ad- 
vice, was  hit  hardest. 

For  it  was  his  doctor's  words  that  had  set  the 
Judge  thinking,  and  a  process  of  introspection 
started  by  one's  physician  is  likely  to  lead  a  man 
to  take  stock  of  things  that  he  usually  shoves  away 
back  in  his  head.  The  Judge  was  fifty-five  years 
old,  a  robust,  tireless  man  still,  but  still  fifty-five. 
And  he  had  to  admit  to  himself  that  he  was  feeling 
pretty  mean  that  day.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his 
busy  life  that  the  passing  of  the  years  had  occurred 
to  him  as  a  matter  of  supreme  personal  interest. 

1  It  was  also  the  first  time,  he  reflected,  that  he  had 
felt  it  necessary  to  obey  a  physician's  injunctions 
and  stay  away  from  his  office. 

At  thought  of  his  neglected  business,  the  Judge 
rose  impatiently  from  his  easy  chair.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  one  of  his  knees  creaked  a  bit  and  that 
his  back  was  a  trifle  stiffer  than  he  remembered  it. 
He  sat  down  again,  rather  slowly  and  dismally,  and 
hated  the  doctor. 

He  let  his  glance  wander  slowly  about  the  famil- 
iar living  room.  The  forenoon  sun  poured  warm 
through  the  three  French  windows  that  opened  upon 
the  front  veranda,  but  the  apartment  seemed  op- 


26  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

pressively  chill  and  cheerless.  His  eye  came  to  rest 
on  a  mirror,  which  hung  in  the  shadow  near  the 
door. 

It  was  years  since  the  Judge  had  consulted  a  mir- 
ror except  razor  in  hand.  Hardly  since  his  fancy- 
scarf  and  boutonniere  days,  had  he  felt  the  temp- 
tation to  appraise  his  personal  appearance.  Now 
he  hesitated,  frowning  to  himself.  He  looked 
about.  No  one  was  near. 

The  glass  had  been  hung  with  a  forward  tilt,  to 
suit  the  convenience  of  one  of  smaller  stature  than 
the  Judge.  He  put  out  his  hand  to  flatten  it  against 
the  wall.  The  loud  Honk-Honk  of  an  automobile 
cut  short  a  promising  inspection,  and  he  turned  away 
quickly  with  a  guilty  grin.  What  would  Jane  have 
said  if  she  had  caught  him  in  that  pose  before  her 
mirror? 

The  Judge  knew  that  that  Honk  heralded 
Jane's  approach.  In  fact  the  village  of  Fair- 
view  boasted  of  only  one  automobile,  and  Judge 
Belknap,  Fairview's  leading  citizen,  was  its  envied 
owner. 

The  automobile  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  which 
made  the  driveway  pebbles  fly,  and  Judge  Belknap, 
at  the  window,  saw  Jane  spring  lightly  down  from 
where  she  sat  beside  Tom  Wilson.  She  waved  to 
her  father,  who  was  smiling  now  over  his  escape, 
and  ran  into  the  house.  She  was  out  again  in  a 
minute,  a  book  under  her  arm,  and  in  less  than  an- 


THE  JUDGE  HAS  A  BAD  COLD      27 

other,  had  disappeared  down  Main  street  in  a  cloud 
of  dust. 

The  Judge  sat  down  again,  more  comfortably. 
If  anything  did  happen  to  him  —  a  remote  contin- 
gency, at  worst  —  his  daughter  would  be  well  pro- 
vided for.  Jane  would  be  ten  times  over  the  rich- 
est girl  in  Fairview,  as  well  as  ten  times  the  pret- 
tiest. He  felt  pleased  to  remember  that  he  had 
made  his  will  long  ago,  purely  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness. Making  one's  will  on  a  physician's  tip  is  a 
depressing  ceremony,  always.  He  had  assisted  at 
several  such,  as  an  attorney. 

"The  richest  girl  and  the  prettiest."  He  said 
it  aloud,  almost  boastfully,  then  added,  somewhat 
dubiously:  "  And  the  most  sensible." 

Now  the  Judge  no  more  doubted  Jane's  good! 
sense  than  the  solidity  of  his  investments,  which 
should  be  hers.  But  it  had  occurred  to  him,  even 
as  he  boasted,  that,  while  he  was  ripening  at  fifty- 
five  Jane  had  blossomed  at  nineteen.  She  was  no 
longer  a  child,  but  an  altogether  charming  young  wo» 
man,  of  marriageable  age,  the  catch  of  the  country 

—  and  motherless. 

The  Judge  pondered.  Yes,  Jane  Had  good  sense, 
plenty  of  it.  But  she  had  one  alarming  weakness, 

—  Tom  Wilson. 

Jane  seemed  to  be  very  fond  of  young  Wilson, 
and  he  of  her.  They  were  constantly  in  each 
other's  company,  had,  indeed,  been  inseparable 


28  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

since  first  they  had  been  able  to  toddle  toward  each 
other.  And  now  Tom  was  old  enough  to  have 
voted  once  or  twice  and  he  was  still  toddling. 
That's  just  what  Tom  was,  a  toddler,  an  irrespon- 
sible kid.  Why,  he'd  never  earned  a  dollar  in  his 
life,  or  wanted  to.  It  was  high  time  he  began. 

The  Judge  began  to  pace  the  room,  his  own  dis- 
comfort forgotten  in  his  anxiety  for  his  daughter. 
There  was  no  room  for  reasonable  doubt.  Jane 
certainly  was  very  fond  of  Tom.  In  fact  the  two 
of  them  probably  looked  upon  their  affair  as  a  set- 
tled thing.  Jane  had  never  said  so,  but  it  was  the 
only  fair  inference.  If  only  her  mother  were  alive ! 
He  must  manage  it  somehow  himself.  He  sat 
down  again  to  think  it  over. 

After  all,  what  insuperable  objection  was  there 
to  Tom  Wilson? 

Tom  had  a  good  head  on  him.  True  he  never 
used  it,  but  then  Satan  had  never  found  any  partic- 
ular mischief  for  his  idle  brains  to  do.  His  char- 
acter was  unexceptionable.  There  wasn't  a  youth 
in  Fairview  who  would  go  farther  than  Tom,  or 
half  so  far,  if  only  Tom  would  settle  down  and  get 
busy. 

And  then,  the  boy  had  grown  up  fatherless.  He 
had  never  had  a  fair  chance.  Perhaps  Belknap 
himself  might  fairly  be  held  responsible  for  that. 
The  Judge  could  not  forget  that  Jim  Wilson,  dying, 
had  left  him  the  boy  "  to  make  a  man  of  him." 


THE  JUDGE  HAS  A  BAD  COLD       29 

His  word  to  Jim  had  not  been  kept.  He  must  re- 
deem it  now,  for  Tom's  sake,  as  well  as  Jane's. 

The  Honk  of  the  returning  automobile  made  him 
start  to  his  'feet.  Judge  Belknap,  his  mind  once 
made  up,  was  not  a  man  to  dally.  He  would  take 
the  boy  in  hand  at  once.  He  strode  to  the  open 
window. 

"  Tom,"  he  called.     "  I  want  to  see  you." 

Tom  and  Jane  eyed  each  other  uneasily. 

"  Gee  I  "  said  Tom,  under  his  breath.  "  Hem- 
ingway's beat  us  to  it.  Guess  he  must  have 
'phoned." 


CHAPTER  IV 

FIVE    DOLLARS    A   WEEK 

TOM  entered  steeled  for  the  expected  fray. 
He  found  Belknap  seated  at  his  table,  exam- 
ining papers.  Unconsciously,  perhaps,  the  Judge 
had  assumed  his  best  professional  manner  for  the 
interview.  The  youth,  unfortunately,  mistook  it 
for  the  pose  of  righteous  but  suppressed  wrath. 
Unconsciously  also,  perhaps,  he  played  for  time. 

He  tossed  his  cap  and  automobile  goggles  into  a 
chair  by  the  door,  nodded  a  defiantly  cheerful  good 
morning,  and  paused  before  the  mirror  to  smooth 
his  ruffled  hair.  He  found  it  necessary  to  adjust  his 
neat  blue  four-in-hand,  too.  Then  he  tilted  back  the 
mirror,  stood  at  arm's  length,  and  frankly  admired 
the  general  effect. 

The  Judge  laid  his  letter  down  and  sat  waiting 
with  a  sour  smile.  Tom  deposited  himself  in  the 
chair  across  the  table,  crossed  his  legs  and  said, 
with  studied  politeness : 

u  I'm  sorry  to  see  that  you're  no  better  to-day, 
Judge.  What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

The  sufferer  looked  at  him  hard.  "  Not  much," 
he  rasped.  And  added,  after  a  moment's  consider- 
ation of  the  invidious  accent  on  Tom's  "  you  " : 
3° 


FIFE  DOLLARS  A  WEEK  31 

"  Not  much  for  me  and  not  much  for  anybody 
else." 

Then  the  Judge  was  sorry,  and  tried  to  soften 
the  glare  which  had  accompanied  the  words.  Poor 
Tom,  taken  aback,  began  to  apologize,  though  ig- 
norant of  just  how  he  had  offended. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  help,  Judge  Belknap,"  he 
stammered.  "  You  see,  when  a  man  of  your  age 
gets  knocked  out  in  this  way,  there  are  lots  of  things 
he  can't  look  after  himself,  and,  if  I  can  be  of  any 
— "  he  was  going  to  say  "  any  assistance,"  but 
stopped  in  time.  He  received  a  vague  impression 
that,  by  so  doing,  he  had  just  dodged  an  explosion. 

The  Judge's  temper  had  not  been  sweetened  any 
by  his  short  term  of  adversity,  and  Tom  had  put 
his  blundering  finger  on  the  raw.  The  Judge 
spoke,  very  slowly,  for  fear  of  speaking  too  fast. 

"  I  shall  not  require  your  assistance,"  he  said, 
"but  I  thank  you  just  the  same."  Then  dryly: 
"  In  fact  your  kindness  makes  my  own  duty  easier. 
I  sent  for  you,  not  to  ask  assistance,  but  to  offer  it." 

Tom  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Why,  what's  the 
matter  with  me  ?  "  he  asked,  perplexed. 

The  Judge  told  him.  Tom  had  given  the  lawyer 
the  exact  opening  he  needed,  and  Belknap  wasted 
no  time  in  choosing  soft  and  pleasing  terms  with 
which  to  picture  Tom's  wasted  past,  his  useless  pres- 
ent, and  his  unprofitable  future. 

The  boy  took  it  all  in  good  part,  at  least  without 


32  THE  COUNTRY  BOY> 

protest.  He  sat  there  in  a  maze.  "  Now  just 
what  is  my  venerable  friend  driving  at?"  he  asked 
himself.  Of  course,  what  that  infernal  farmer 
had  said  —  but  this  was  different.  He  had  never 
heard  the  Judge  talk  with  such  lack  of  restraint. 
Perhaps  his  illness  had  made  him  a  bit  light- 
headed. 

He  listened  attentively  and  with  a  growing  look 
of  concern  that  quite  misled  Belknap.  The  Judge 
relented.  "  Come,  the  fellow  has  some  sense  after 
all,"  he  thought.  "  I  should  have  taken  him  in 
hand  before,"  and,  much  mollified,  passed  from  di- 
agnosis to  prescription. 

It  was  perhaps  due  to  the  Judge's  lack  of  sympa- 
thetic imagination,  that  he  now  proceeded  to  fill 
[Tom  full  of  vain  and  fanciful  hope.  He  began  by 
saying,  in  a  fatherly  way,  how  important  it  was  for 
every  young  man  to  choose  the  right  profession  or 
business.  He  dilated,  almost  with  enthusiasm  on 
the  pleasure  and  profits  of  the  law  —  from  the 
lawyer's  point  of  vantage  —  taking,  as  an  attractive 
example  his  own  highly  successful  career  in  Fair- 
view.  As  if  to  make  amends  for  his  late  excori- 
ation of  Tom,  he  was  pleased  to  assure  that  young 
man  of  the  good  opinion  he  held  of  his  natural  abil- 
ities. He  was  quite  sure  Tom  would  make  a  suc- 
cess of  the  law,  if  only  he  would  apply  himself  to 
the  task. 

Tom  began  to  have  an  inkling.     It  was  with  a 


FIFE  DOLLARS  A  WEEK.  33 

smile  of  complacency  that  he  permitted  the  Judge 
to  continue,  without  interruption: 

"  Now,  I  want  you  to  come  into  my  office.  I  will 
teach  you  all  I  know  about  the  law.  It  will  be  three 
years  before  you  can  take  your  final  examinations, 
but  it  would  take  three  years  to  enter  any  profession 
anywhere,  and,  if  I  do  say  it  " —  here  the  Judge  ex- 
panded his  chest  after  the  manner  peculiar  to  self- 
conscious  affluence  — "  if  I  do  say  it,  there  isn't  a 
law  student  in  Western  New  .York  who  mightn't 
envy  you  the  place  that  will  be  yours  in  my  office." 

Generous  words,  indeed!  At  last  it  dawned 
fully  on  Tom  just  what  the  Judge  had  been  "  driv- 
ing at."  How  could  he  have  been  so  obtuse? 
The  Judge  was  getting  along  in  years.  What  he 
most  needed  was  a  hustling,  young  partner,  of  course 
—  a  man  who  could  relieve  his  aging  shoulders  of 
the  burden  of  detail  incident  to  his  ever-increasing 
practice.  Preferably  a  young  man,  of  good  natural 
abilities,  whom  he  could  train  to  meet  the  precise 
needs  of  the  situation,  who  could  grow  up  with  the 
business. 

Tom  could  easily  see  why  the  mantle  was  to  fall 
upon  him.  He  was  hampered  by  no  previous  ex- 
perience. He  had  nothing  to  unlearn.  The  Judge 
had  stated  that  explicitly,  almost  brutally  by  way  of 
leading  up  to  his  proposal. 

But  could  he  accept  the  offer?  Could  he  afford 
to  accept  it?  Tom  did  some  rapid  thinking  while 


34  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

the  Judge  dallied  over  details.  It  was  a  liberal 
offer,  truly,  but  then  —  it  was  Fairview  against 
New  York.  Tom  has  seen  visions,  and  a  country 
law  practice  held  out  few  allurements  to  him. 

But  again,  there  was  Jane.  In  whatever  princi- 
pality of  the  air  Tom  had  built  his  castles,  there  had 
never  been  any  mistress  for  them  but  Jane.  Per- 
haps his  patron  had  Jane  in  mind  too,  as  he  dis- 
coursed of  office  hours  and  duties,  taking  Tom's  ac- 
ceptance quite  for  granted.  Certainly  the  Judge's 
partnership  plan  would  fit  well  into  the  general 
scheme.  It  would  please  mother,  too.  He  would 
never  be  able  to  reconcile  her  to  the  New  York 
idea. 

And  so,  with'  a  sigh  of  relinquishment,  Tom  thrust 
aside  his  vision  of  metropolitan  glories,  abandoned 
his  dream  of  "  something  big,"  and,  as  the  Judge's 
monologue  seemed  to  be  nearing  the  end,  gave  ear 
to  his  final  words  with  the  austere  mien  of  one  who 
sacrifices  himself  for  the  common  good. 

And  this  is  what  he  heard : 

"Well  then,  everything  is  well  understood,  and 
no  more  time  need  be  wasted.  Let  me  see,  this  is 
Friday.  Report  at  the  office  next  Monday  morning 
at  eight  o'clock,  ready  to  pitch  in.  You  will  get  five 
dollars  a  week." 

"  Five  dollars  a  week!  " 

Tom  sat  up  in  his  chair  with  a  jerlc  ami  echoed 
the  offer  in  tones  of  agonized  surprise.  Then,  by 


FIVE  DOLLARS  A  WEEK  35 

way  of  reply,  he  gasped.  Words  —  adequate 
words  — •  would  not  come.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  Tom's  effervescent  vocabulary  failed  him.  He 
stared  across  the  table  with  an  expression  of  utter 
bewilderment,  which  sat  so  ludicrously  on  his  frank, 
boyish  face,  that,  had  Judge  Belknap  so  much  as 
half-noticed  it,  his  own  unsmiling  countenance  must 
have  relaxed  in  sympathy. 

But  the  Judge  was  intent,  or  seemed  to  be,  on  a 
document  he  had  taken  from  a  drawer  in  the  table, 
and  both  gasp  and  stare  went  for  naught.  If  he 
did  notice  them,  they  only  hardened  him  in  his  de- 
termination to  put  the  boy  through  the  severe 
"  course  of  sprouts,"  which,  he  was  sure,  was  the 
first  thing  Tom  needed.  It  would  be  a  fine  thing 
for  this  spoiled  youngster  to  learn  just  what  he  was 
worth  in  the  world  of  dollars  and  cents. 

The  matter-of-fact  lawyer  was  far  from  suspect- 
ing that,  with  four  words,  he  had  degraded  a  po- 
tential partner  to  the  rank  of  an  office  boy.  If  he 
could  have  read  Tom's  inmost  mind,  it  wouldn't  have 
made  any  difference.  He  was  quite  satisfied  that 
he  was  doing  the  right  thing,  and  the  fact  that  his 
own  ultimate  hopes  of  Tom  were  not  far  out  of  line 
with  Tom's  too-previous  apprehension  of  them, 
wouldn't  have  mattered.  Tom  must  first  show  that 
he  had  the  stuff  in  him.  That  Tom  might  refuse 
his  offer  was  a  possibility  that  never  entered  his 
head. 


36  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

So  the  Judge  'dropped  that  end  of  the  business  as 
settled.  Before  Tom  could  recover  breath  or 
speech,  he  went  on,  rapping  the  table  with  the  folded 
paper  to  give  due  emphasis  to  his  words. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  a  copy  of  your  father's  will, 
of  which  I  have  the  honor  to  be  sole  executor. 
Now  that  you  are  about  to  try  making  your  own 
way  in  the  world,  it  is  necessary  that  you  know  ex- 
actly where  you  stand.  Your  father  and  I  — " 

Tom  had  ceased  to  listen.  He  knew  all  he  cared 
to  know  about  that  will,  or  thought  he  did.  Every- 
body in  Fairview  knew  that  his  father  and  Belknap 
had  been  bosom  friends.  Bah!  That  only  made 
Belknap's  conduct  all  the  more  miserable. 

"  Five  dollars  a  week."  The  words  buzzed  in 
his  head  like  four  flies  in  a  bottle.  He  could  hear 
nothing  else. 

The  Judge  went  on  explaining.  Tom,  deaf  and 
dumb  with  rage,  paid  no  heed.  The  more  he 
thought  the  madder  he  got.  "  Five  dollars  a 
week !  "  Why,  the  colored  boy  that  drove  Mad- 
dox's  grocery  wagon  got  six.  Judge  Belknap  him- 
self paid  ten  to  his  carroty-headed  secretary-sten- 
ographer, Hez  Jenks.  Suddenly  Tom  found  his 
tongue.  He  jumped  to  his  feet  to  tell  this  cheap 
village  magnate  just  what  he  thought  of  him  and 
Fairview. 

He  opened  his  mouth,  stopped,  sputtered.  Prov- 
idence, in  the  form  of  a  pretty  girl,  had  intervened 


FIFE  DOLLARS  A  WEEK  37 

to  save  the  unsuspecting  Judge  from  a  disagreeable 
surprise.  It  was  Jane,  who,  anxious  for  her  fa- 
vorite chauffeur,  had  sauntered  down  the  piazza  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  open  window  just  in  time  to 
halt  Tom's  blistering  words  between  tongue  and 
lip.  She  silently  waved  her  veil,  and  passed  on. 
Her  father's  back  was  turned  to  the  window,  and 
he  neither  saw  nor  heard. 

The  Judge  gazed  up  inquiringly  at  Tom's  hang- 
ing jaw.  Tom  sputtered  again.  He  could  cheer- 
fully have  annihilated  Hiram  Belknap  on  the  spot, 
but  he  couldn't  destroy  Jane  Belknap's  father.  His 
jaw  trembled  under  the  Judge's  keen  scrutiny. 
Something  had  to  be  said.  The  words  came  stam- 
meringly: 

11  Five  dollars  a  week?  " 

He  was  ready  to  burst  with  chagrin,  but  he  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  And,  since  his  tone  this  time 
was  weakly  interrogative,  the  Judge  deigned  to  re- 
ply. 

"  I  began  on  less,"  he  said.  "  So  did  your 
father/'  he  added  slowly,  looking  at  Tom. 

Tom  had  no  reply  to  that.  He  knew  tKat  Hi- 
ram Belknap  treasured  his  friend's  memory  and 
never  spoke  of  him  without  deep  feeling,  and  he 
felt  that  his  present  reference  was  not  an  idle  one. 
He  remembered,  too,  that  Belknap  had  been  his 
mother's  trusted  friend  and  adviser,  and  that  she 
would  be  deeply  grieved  if  her  son  affronted  him. 


38  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Nevertheless  his  own  position  must  be  made  per- 
fectly clear.  As  he  hesitated,  the  Judge  came  to 
his  aid. 

"  Well,  then,  we  shall  regard  the  matter  as  set- 
tled," he  said. 

Tom's  muscles  stiffened.  He  threw  back  his 
head.  "  No,"  he  ejaculated. 

His  throat  was  dry.  He  paused.  The  Judge 
stared,  incredulous. 

"  I  can't  afford  to  be  a  piker,"  Tom  said. 

It  was  the  Judge's  turn  to  be  stunned  into  silence. 
He  looked  at  Tom  a  full  half-minute.  Then  he 
broke  into  a  contemptuous  laugh. 

"  You  don't  think  the  job  worthy  of  your  abil- 
ities? "  he  asked.  "  May  I  inquire  if  you  have  any- 
thing better  in  view?" 

The  Judge's  tone  was  bitterly  sarcastic.  Tom 
thought  of  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  but  did  not  trust 
himself  to  reply.  The  Judge  arose. 

"  You  mean  you  do  not  care  to  accept  my  offer. 
Very  well,  I  do  not  wish  to  force  it  on  you.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  learn  that  you  have  succeeded  elsewhere. 
From  what  I  have  told  you  of  the  condition  of  your 
father's  estate,  you  must  realize  that  it  is  up  to  you 
to  'make  good,  and  soon.  There  is  another  thing, 
too,  which  your  course  in  this  matter  makes  it  neces- 
sary to  say.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  hard  on  you,  but, 
until  you  do  make  good,  you  cannot  expect — "  he 


FIVE  DOLLARS  A  WEEK  39 

broke  off  awkwardly  as  Jane  appeared  again  at  the 
window,  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"Can't  Tom  come  now?"  she  asked.  "We 
just  have  time  to  drive  down  to  the  post-office  be- 
fore the  mail  goes  out." 

"  We  will  speak  of  it  again,1'  said  the  Judge  to 
Tom. 

Tom  left  the  room  in  troubled  silence.  He  had 
missed  what  Judge  Belknap  had  said  about  the  es- 
tate. And  he  had  a  shrewd  notion  of  what  it  was 
the  Judge  had  reserved  for  future  discussion. 

The  Judge  sank  wearily  into  his  chair.  He 
heard  Tom  grunting  as  he  wrestled  with  the  crank 
of  the  automobile,  and  Jane  gleefully  mocking  him. 
Then,  at  some  remark  of  Tom's,  which  he  did  not 
catch,  both  voices  rose  in  laughter  as  the  machine 
glided  away.  To  the  Judge,  with  their  recent  in- 
terview in  mind,  the  remark  and  the  laugh  came  as 
fresh  proofs  of  Tom's  flippant  irresponsibility. 

"  I'm  afraid  Jim's  son  isn't  going  to  make  goo'd 
very  soon,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   JUDGE   SIDE-STEPS 

JANE  BELKNAP  fully  merited  her  father's  esti- 
mate of  her  as  a  sensible  girl.  Jane  was  as  sen- 
sible as  she  was  sweet  and  pretty,  and  no  reason- 
able person  could  ask  more.  Of  medium  height 
and  trim,  full-modelled  figure,  her  tanned  cheeks 
and  wholesome  face  told  of  outdoor  life  and 
abounding  health.  Her  hair  was  dark  brown, 
brushed  smoothly  back  over  a  shapely  head,  except 
where  it  clustered  in  little,  rebellious  curls  about  her 
white  forehead.  Thick,  curling  lashes  shaded  eyes 
so  soft  and  brown  that,  from  her  childhood,  her 
father  had  never  been  able  to  withstand  their  coax- 
ing. Jane's  eyes  were  her  chief  charm,  and  de- 
mure Jane  knew  it. 

But  it  was  the  quality  of  Jane's  chin,  rather  than 
of  her  eyes,  that  disconcerted  the  Judge  as  he  faced 
her  at  the  luncheon  table,  two  hours  after  his  inter- 
rupted interview  with  Tom.  Gentle  and  affection- 
ate as  she  was,  Jane  had  a  self-reliant  habit  of  doing 
her  own  thinking.  It  was  this  self-same  trait  that 
had  earned  her  father's  golden  opinion  of  her  good 
sense,  but  it  might  prove  an  embarrassing  factor 
in  the  present  situation. 

40 


THE  JUDGE  SIDE-STEPS  41 

Judge  Belknap's  jaw  was  of  the  squarish,  granite 
type.  Jane's  chin  was  rounded  and  softly  feminine, 
but  a  connoisseur  in  physiognomic  values  might 
have  noted  that  it  was  set  as  firmly  as  the  Judge's 
own.  Just  at  present  she  was  employing  it  exclu- 
sively on  the  viands  before  her,  her  silence  leaving 
it  to  be  inferred  that  she  was  doing  a  heap  of  think- 
ing. 

The  Judge  wavered.  He  had  fully  made  up  his 
mind  to  send  for  Tom  that  afternoon  and  have  it 
out  with  him.  He  was  quite  certain  of  what  he 
wanted  to  say  to  Tom.  He  wasn't  quite  so  sure 
how  Jane  would  take  it. 

It  was  Hezekiah  Jenks,  the  Judge's  lanky  secre- 
tary, who  unwittingly  brought  things  to  a  crisis. 
Dr.  Downing  had  allowed  Belknap  to  transact  at 
home  such  urgent  business  as  was  necessary  "  to 
keep  him  from  worrying  himself  to  death  while  he 
was  getting  well."  Among  the  letters  brought  to 
him  from  his  office  after  luncheon,  the  Judge  found 
one  addressed  in  the  angular  hand-writing  of  Hez 
Jenks. 

Mildly  wondering  what  Hez  could  have  on  his 
mind  that  required  this  formal  means  of  expres- 
sion, the  Judge  opened  the  letter.  It  began  with 
humble  protestations  of  zeal  and  'devotion  to  the 
Judge's  interests;  dwelt  at  length  on  the  writer's 
industry,  faithfulness  and  length  of  service.  "  He 
wants  more  money  and  picks  a  time  I  can't  well  do 


42  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

without  him  to  ask  it,"  thought  the  Judge,  and 
frowned  impatiently  as  he  turned  the  page.  Then 
a  sudden,  sulphuric  syllable  escaped  him.  In 
courtly  terms  Hez  Jenks  had  begged  permission  to 
pay  his  addresses  to  the  Judge's  daughter. 

Judge  Belknap's  first  thought  was  to  send  for  his 
impudent  factotum  and  indulge  himself  in  the 
pleasure  of  kicking  him  out  of  the  house.  Better 
still,  send  for  Tom  too,  and  kill  both  birds  with  one 
stone.  No,  that  wouldn't  do.  Somehow  Hez's 
pretensions  provoked  him  as  Tom's  did  not.  The 
idea  of  this  gawky,  uncouth  piece  of  office  equip- 
ment's aspiring  to  the  possession  of  dainty,  bewitch- 
ing Jane,  was  offensive  to  the  last  degree. 

Yet  Hez's  letter  told  the  truth,  as  far  as  it  went. 
Hez  was  faithful,  zealous,  industrious  —  all  the  ad- 
mirable things  that  Tom  Wilson  most  emphatically 
was  not.  Hez  would  make  good  in  Fairview.  But 
for  a  son-in-law!  Never! 

Still  the  Judge  thought  it  best  to  ignore  his  im- 
pudence for  the  present.  Perhaps  it  might  even  be 
turned  to  advantage  in  the  case  of  Jane  and  Tom. 
He  would  temporize,  choose  the  easy  line  of  attack. 
Meantime  he  decided  to  take  counsel  with  Tom's 
mother.  He  wrote  her  a  note,  inviting  her  to  take 
tea  with  him  at  five  o'clock  that  afternoon  and  ask- 
ing her  not  mention  it  to  Tom. 

When  Hez  Jenks  arrived  shortly  before  that 
hour  for  the  brief  afternoon  business  session  that 


THE  JUDGE  SIDE-STEPS  43 

Dr.  Downing  sanctioned,  he  found  the  Judge  in  no 
agreeable  mood.  Hez,  who  studied  his  employer 
more  diligently  than  his  law-books,  seated  himself 
silently  in  the  chair  Tom  had  found  so  uncomfort- 
able that  'morning.  The  Judge  began  dictating  re- 
plies to  several  letters. 

The  master  eyed  the  man  with  eyes  of  disfavor 
as  Hez  bent  his  head  over  the  pad  of  paper  he  held 
on  his  knee.  Hez  had  yellow  hair,  too,  but  it  was 
of  a  faded  straw  color,  and  fell  lank  across  a  nar- 
row forehead,  which  sloped  straight  back  from  a 
beak-like  nose.  He  had  blue  eyes,  faded  too,  with 
sparse  lashes,  which  could  not  conceal  their  shifty 
alertness,  so  unlike  Tom's  friendly,  candid  gaze. 
Hez's  desirable  qualities  seemed  to  be  strictly  lim- 
ited to  the  undeniable  ones  catalogued  in  his  letter. 

"  That  will  be  all,"  snapped  the  Judge,  as  he 
laid  down  the  last  letter. 

"  .Yes,  sir,"  said  Hez  meekly,  but  he  lingered  a 
moment  half-expectantly  before  he  rose. 

"Where's  Jane?"  asked  the  Judge  abruptly. 
He  had  not  intended  to  mention  her.  It  was  no 
part  of  Hez's  business  to  know  where  Jane  was. 
Hez  was  too  artful  to  take  the  accidental  opening. 

"  I  haven't  seen  her  since  noon,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  I  think  she  went  out  with  Tom  Wilson  in  the 
automobile." 

The  Judge  was  grateful  for  an  opportunity  to 
vent  his  spleen  on  some  legitimate  object  of  wrath. 


44  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  That  automobile  was  a  mistake,"  he  said  testily, 
"  a  frightful  extravagance.  I'm  sorry  that  I  ever 
bought  it." 

"  Guess  the  town  would  miss  it  if  you  gave  it  up," 
said  Hez.  "  It's  the  only  one  we've  got." 

"  It  does  give  us  a  little  tone,"  said  the  Judge, 
appeased  by  the  sly  tribute  to  the  only  one's  owner. 
"  That's  why  I  bought  it.  But  I  didn't  count  on 
the  reckless  slaughter  of  animals  involved  in  run- 
ning it.  Upon  my  soul,  we've  killed  enough  chick- 
ens and  pigs  with  it  to  keep  the  town  in  fresh  meat 
for  a  year." 

"  Nobody  kicks  about  that  so  long  as  you  pay 
for  them,"  replied  Hez,  who  knew  Tom  had  offi- 
ciated at  most  of  the  killings. 

The  Judge  eyed  him  with  irritation.  "  I  don't 
intend  to  pay  for  them  much  longer,"  he  said. 
"  If  this  town  wants  an  automobile,  it  will  have  to 
stand  for  the  accidents.  Here,"  he  added,  hand- 
ing Hez  a  bundle  of  papers  he  had  signed,  "  take 
these  back  with  you  to  the  office.  Tell  everybody 
that  calls  that  I  won't  be  down  till  Monday.  If 
it's  anything  that  can't  wait,  send  them  over  to  me 
here.  Understand?" 

"Yes,  sir."  Hez  walked  slowly  towards  the' 
door,  as  if  he  hesitated  about  speaking  further  in, 
face  of  this  dismissal.  He  stopped  half  way, 
turned  and  said  awkwardly: 

"  'Scuse    me,    Judge    Belknap,     but    have    you 


THE  JUDGE  SIDE-STEPS  45 

thought  any  on  what  I  wrote  you  about  —  about 
Jane?" 

The  Judge  was  taken  unawares.  "  No,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  influence  her  in  any 
way."  He  thought  of  Tom  and  added,  almost 
with  a  smile:  "At  least,  I  don't  want  to  be  com- 
pelled to  do  so." 

"  But  —  you  don't  object  to  me,"  persisted  Hez. 

"  Why  should  I?  "  asked  the  Judge.  "  You  are 
faithful,  energetic,  ambitious.  You'll  make  your 
imark  some  day.  No,  if  Jane  wants  it  that  way,  by 
all  means  don't  let  me  stand  in  the  way." 

There  was  something  in  the  Judge's  reference 
to  Jane's  wishes  that  Hez  didn't  quite  like,  but  he 
had  gained  his  chance.  It  would  be  his  own  fault 
if  he  failed  to  profit  by  it.  Before  the  Judge  could 
say  more,  he  replied: 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  can  come  back  and  see  her 
a  little  later?" 

The  Judge  gave  him  a  hard  look.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  was  sore  tempted.  A  vision  of  Hez,  cata- 
pulting off  the  toe  of  his  boot,  danced  before  his 
eyes.  Sarah,  the  neat  housemaid,  entered.  "  Mrs. 
Wilson,  sir,"  she  announced.  . "  Any  time  after 
you're  through  your  work,"  said  the  Judge  to  Hez. 
To  Sarah :  "  Show  her  in."  He  rose  quickly  and 
went  towards  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  come  right  in,  Mrs.  Wilson,"  he  cried 
warmly. 


46  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

A  sweet-faced,  motherly-looking  woman  of  forty- 
five  stood  in  the  door  and  looked  diffidently  from 
the  Judge  to  Hez  and  back  again.  Her  face  ex- 
pressed deep  concern.  Judge  Belknap  hastened  to 
her,  and  said,  as  he  grasped  her  hand: 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  put  you  to  any  trouble.  I 
would  have  come  over  to  see  you,  but  I  am  not  al- 
lowed to  leave  the  house." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you're  not  well,"  said  Tom's 
mother. 

"  Oh,  nothing  serious,"  replied  the  Judge,  with 
an  effort  at  cheerfulness.  "  Just  a  cold,  but  at  my 
time  of  life,  I  can't  afford  to  be  going  against  the 
doctor's  advice.  You'd  like  some  tea.  Jane  isn't 
here,  but  I'll  have  Sarah  bring  it." 

He  crossed  the  wide  room  to  press  a  button. 
Hez  had  lingered,  uninvited.  The  hint  of  distress 
in  Mrs.  Wilson's  manner,  the  Judge's  elaborate 
cordiality,  had  not  escaped  his  alert  senses.  He 
approached  Mrs.  Wilson.  She  turned  to  him  with 
a  start. 

"Oh,  how  are  you,  Hezekiah?"  she  asked. 
"  You're  getting  so  big  I  didn't  know  you.  Are 
your  folks  all  well?" 

"Yes,  thanks.  All  except  dad.  His  back  has 
gone  out  on  him  again,  but  otherwise  he's  all  right." 

"  Remember  me  to  your  another,  won't  you  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Wilson,  as  Hez  labored  to  frame  a  ques- 
tion. 


THE  JUDGE  SIDE-STEPS  47 

"Yes,  thanks,  I  will,"  said  Hez.  The  Judge 
came  towards  them  with  a  frown  of  annoyance. 
"  I've  got  to  go  to  the  office  now,"  Hez  added,  and 
made  for  the  door. 

Left  alone  with  his  guest,  the  Judge  seemed  em- 
barrassed. "  Sit  down,  Mrs.  Wilson,"  he  said. 
"  No,  this  chair,  it's  more  comfortable."  An  awk- 
ward pause  was  broken  by  Sarah's  entrance.  It 
was  Mrs.  Wilson  who  ordered  the  tea. 

The  Judge  bustled  across  the  room  for  a  small 
tea  table,  which  he  placed  at  Mrs.  Wilson's  arm. 
"  It's  a  great  pleasure  to  see  you  again,"  he  said. 
He  drew  up  a  chair  across  the  table.  "  We  don't 
see  you  nearly  often  enough  these  days,"  he  com- 
plained. 

"  I'm  sure  it  isn't  my  fault,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson 
gently. 

He  hastened  to  reassure  her.  "  It's  the  fault  of 
conditions.  We  busy  men,  you  know,  Mrs.  Wil- 
son," he  added. 

Another  pause.  "  It  must  be  very  gratifying  to 
Have  all  the  railroad's  business  to  look  after,"  ven- 
tured Mrs.  Wilson. 

Few  railroad  lawyers  care  to  take  their  business 
home  with  them. 

"  Every  little  helps,"  replied  the  Judge,  noncha- 
lantly. Then,  in  tones  he  strove  to  make  impress- 
ive :  "  That's  been  my  motto  for  a  good  many 
years.  Nothing  so  small  but  what  it's  worth  at- 


48  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

tending  to.  I  think  that  accounts  for  what  little 
success  I've  had." 

Mrs.  Wilson  did  not  get  the  meaning  the  Judge 
intended.  Tom  had  told  her  nothing  of  his  offer. 
But  she  was  duly  impressed. 

"  You've  had  more  than  a  little  success,  Judge 
Belknap,"  she  protested.  "  Aren't  you  the  only 
man  in  Fairview  known  outside  of  it?  Haven't  we 
watched  you  climb  from  a  dingy  little  law  practice 
to  the  pinnacle  of  public  office?  You've  been  very- 
successful,  indeed." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  responded  the 
Judge.  The  pinnacle  referred  to  had  been  an  ad 
interim  appointment  as  county  judg'e,  whence  his 
title,  but  Mrs.  Wilson's  earnestness  was  pleasingly 
sincere. 

"  It's  quite  a  change  from  the  old  days,"  she  con- 
tinued, in  a  lower  voice,  "  although  I  suppose  I 
ought  not  to  mention  them  now." 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  the  Judge,  with'  bluff  hearti- 
ness. "  Those  days  are  always  dear  to  us  for  their 
associations." 

"  When  I  think  of  the  time  when  you  and 
Jim  -^"  Mrs.  Wilson  faltered. 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  the  Judge.  "Why  think  of 
that  now?  You  have  your  health,  your  son."  He 
felt  that  he  had  approached  his  subject  clumsily. 
Sarah  entered  with  the  tea  things.  He  welcomed 
the  diversion. 


THE  JUDGE  SIDE-STEPS  49; 

"  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  pour,  Mrs.  Wilson,"  he 
said.  "  It's  not  quite  in  my  line."  Sarah  placed 
the  tray  and  was  dismissed.  Mrs.  Wilson  poured. 
The  Judge  squared  around  to  face  her.  He  be- 
gan, half  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  half  to  himself. 

"  Now  then,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Wilson  looked  up.  She  had  quite  recovered 
Her  composure. 

"  I  had  supposed  that  you  wished  to  see  me 
about—" 

"  About  Tom."  The  Judge  completed  the  sen- 
tence for  her.  "  I  have  had  a  talk  with  him." 

Tom's  mother  looked  worried.  "  What  has  he 
done  now  ?  " 

"  He  has  disappointed  me,"  said  Belknap  gravely. 

Tom's  mother  was  in  distress.  "  Oh,  I'm  so 
sorry,"  she  said. 

The  Judge  set  his  cup  down  with  nice  exactness 
in  the  center  of  its  saucer. 

"  Mrs.  Wilson,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I've  always 
been  taught  that  a  man  should  earn  his  own  bread; 
that  a  humble  beginning  was  the  proper  road  to  suc- 
cess; at  any  rate,  that  a  modest  start  was  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of.  Such  a  start  I  offered  to  your 
son.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  your  son  does  not  agree 
with  me." 

"You  say  —  you  mean  he  refused  the  position," 
faltered  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Wouldn't  even  entertain  it,"   said  the  Judge. 


go  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Of  course,"  he  added,  touched  by  Mrs.  Wilson's 
distress,  "  the  salary  I  offered  him  was  small.  But 
it  was  meant  only  as  a  beginning  and  I  agreed  to 
take  him  into  my  office  and  teach  him  the  law,  all 
I  know  of  it  at  least.  He  couldn't  see  it." 

"What  did  he  say?  "  asked  Tom's  mother. 

The  Judge  smiled  a  sour  smile.  "  That  he  didn't 
want  to  be  a  piker,"  he  replied. 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  that?  "  The  word  was 
new  to  her. 

Judge  Belknap  was  in  no  mood  to  elucidate.  He 
waved  the  offensive  term  away  with  his  napkin. 

"  Oh,  I  presume  he  meant  the  job  wasn't  good 
enough  for  him,"  he  said  indifferently.  Mrs.  Wil- 
son turned  her  face  aside.  She  was  trying  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  The  Judge  changed  his  tone,  but 
not  his  programme. 

"  Of  course  you  understand  how  I  am  placed," 
he  went  on,  half-apologetically.  "  I'd  do  anything 
in  the  world  for  Jim's  son,  but  I  can't  afford  to  neg- 
lect my  own  interests."  He  paused.  There  was 
no  reply.  "  You  see,  there's  Jane." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  hands  fluttered,  but  she  was  silent. 
He  went  on  relentlessly: 

"  I  believe  they  are  very  fond  of  each  other. 
They  probably  consider  themselves  as  good  as  en- 
gaged. But  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  the  boy  isn't 
what  I  thought  him.  My  daughter's  husband  must 
not  be  ashamed  to  work." 

It  was  out  now,  and  the  Judge  rose  from  his 


THE  JUDGE  SIDE-STEPS  51 

chair  with  an  air  of  finality.  Mrs.  Wilson's  eyes 
were  tracing  the  pattern  of  the  Judge's  carpet. 

"  Judge  Belknap,"  she  asked  timidly,  "  what  do 
you  think  IS  the  matter  with  Tom?  " 

The  Judge  was  vastly  relieved.  He  had  feared 
recrimination,  tears,  a  possible  scene.  This  was  a 
vindication  of  his  attitude.  He  could  afford  to  be 
generous  with  advice. 

"  Mrs.  .Wilson,"  he  asked,  u  you  won't  mind  if 
I  speak  frankly?" 

"  I  want  you  to  be  frank,"  she  said. 

11  You've  kept  Tom  too  close  to  your  apron 
strings.'*  He  put  out  his  hand  quickly  as  Mrs. 
Wilson  attempted  to  rise.  "  Oh,  I  know  what  you 
are  going  to  say.  Your  only  child,  can't  do  without 
him  —  a  mother's  love.  I  understand  exactly  how 
you  feel.  It's  natural  enough,  but,  in  Tom's  case, 
it's  been  a  mistake.  You  should  have  made  him 
realize  that  you  were  'dependent  on  the  little  his 
father  left  you.  Then  he  might  have  made  a  stab 
at  something.  As  it  is,  he  has  been  thinking  that 
you  had  nothing  to  worry  about  —  that  he  could  af- 
ford to  wait  for  something  big  to  happen  —  some- 
thing big.  That's  his  trouble.  He  wants  the  har- 
vest without  the  bother  of  planting  the  seed." 

"  He  wants  to  go  to  New  York,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
son weakly.  The  Judge's  arraignment  ha'd  been 
crushing.  Her  conscience  smote  her.  Perhaps  she 
hadn't  considered  Tom. 

"  Let  him  go,"  said  the  Judge.     "  Let  him  go. 


52  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

There's  nothing  like  a  big  city  for  taking  the  con- 
ceit out  of  a  youngster." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  do  without  him,"  she  ob- 
jected feebly. 

"Have  you  tried?'* 

"  Once,  when  he  went  to  visit  at  Cousin  Mary's 
at  Buffalo."  She  mustered  a  wan,  little  smile.  "  It 
was  very  lonesome." 

"  Of  course  it  was,"  rejoined  the  Judge. 
"  That's  the  very  thing  I  mean.  He's  become  a 
habit  with  you.  But  you'd  get  over  it,  just  the  same 
as  any  other  habit.  Besides,  it  isn't  fair  to  the  boy, 
if  he  wants  to  go.  If  there  is  anything  in  him,  give 
it  a  chance  to  come  out." 

"  I'll  think  about  it  a  little  longer,"  said  Tom's 
mother,  doubtfully. 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  conceded  the  Judge.  "  I 
only  wanted  you  to  understand  my  attitude  in  this 
matter,  that  is,  where  my  girl  is  concerned." 

"Have  you  spoken  to  Jane  about  it?"  asked 
Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Well,  no,"  the  Judge  confessed,  "  at  least,  not 
so  frankly  as  I  have  with  you."  He  wasn't  fooling 
Mrs.  Wilson,  and  he  knew  it.  "  I  have  every  con- 
fidence in  her  discretion,"  he  added,  rather  lamely. 

At  that  moment  the  street  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  the  object  of  her  father's  confidence  entered  the 
room  and  bore  down  upon  Mrs.  Wilson  with  a  rush. 


CHAPTER  VI 


OME  on  in  Tom,"  called  Jane  over  her 
shoulder,  as  she  grasped  Mrs.  Wilson's 
hands  affectionately.  "  Here's  the  runaway,  in 
here." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  hands  trembled  in  the  girl's  warm 
clasp.  Her  eyes  turned  apprehensively  towards 
the  door.  Jane  chattered  away  cheerfully. 

"Well,  now,  what  do  you  think  of  this?"  she 
cried.  "  We've  searched  the  cottage.  We've  been 
looking  everywhere  for  you,"  with  mock  severity  to 
Mrs.  Wilson.  "  Nobody  seemed  to  know  where 
you  were.  And  here  you've  been  visiting  us  all  the 
time.  Why—" 

Jane's  voice  died  away  on  the  top  note  of  a  rising 
inflection.  There  was  something  amiss.  She  took 
a  swift  inventory.  Her  father  stood  aloof.  Mrs. 
Wilson  was  pale;  her  lips  were  trembling.  With 
hardly  a  break,  Jane  rattled  on : 

"  Why,  how  cold  your  hands  are !  You  are  not 
feeling  well.  You  shouldn't  have  walked  over  from 
the  cottage;  it's  too  far.  Why,  you  have  hardly 
tasted  your  tea.  You  should  have  let  me  know  you 

53 


54  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

were  coming.  You  know  I  can  make  tea  just  the 
way  you  like  it." 

"  I  suppose  I  should  have  left  word  where  I  was 
going,  but — "  Mrs.  Wilson  fibbed  falteringly  — 
"  but  I  didn't  think,  I  —  that  is,  I  didn't  expect  to  be 
gone  long." 

Tom,  who  had  lingered  outside  to  look  to  his  gas- 
oline, entered  while  his  mother  was  stumbling  over 
her  excuses.  He  paused  at  the  door,  and,  as  he 
listened,  a  look  of  comprehension  and  anger  wiped 
from  his  face  the  smile  with  which  he  had  hastened 
to  greet  her.  There  was  a  silence  as  he  walked  to 
her  side  and  placed  his  hand  on  the  back  of  her 
chair,  his  eyes  fixed  all  the  while  on  Belknap's  ex- 
pressionless face. 

"  This  looks  suspicious  to  me,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
so  unlike  his  usual  careless  tones,  that  his  'mother 
started  up  nervously.  He  turned  to  her.  "  What 
has  Judge  Belknap  been  saying  to  you?"  he  de- 
manded. She  winced,  and  was  silent. 

The  Judge  cleared  his  throat.  "  We've  been  dis- 
cussing you,"  he  said. 

Tom  placed  his  arm  caressingly  about  his 
mother's  shoulders. 

"  You  can't  make  my  mother  dislike  me,"  he  said 
belligerently.  The  little  woman  smiled  up  at  him 
re-assuringly.  She  was  slightly  bewildered,  rather 
pleasantly  bewildered,  at  this  new  aspect  of  Tom. 
She  couldn't  quite  understand  why  Tom  thought  it 


"KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS"  55 

necessary  to  announce  something  so  obvious  in  a  tone 
so  aggressive. 

The  Judge  eyed  the  two  of  them  for  a  moment, 
then  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I'm  not  fool 
enough  to  try  it,"  he  said,  and  turned  away.  He 
caught  Jane's  questioning  eye  and  bethought  him- 
self. 

"  But  I  felt  it  my  duty  " —  he  spoke  impressively, 
looking  at  Tom,  but  measuring  his  words  for  Jane 
— "  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  tell  her  that  I  had  offered 
you  a  position  in  my  office,  and  that  you  had  refused 
it" 

Tom  did  not  grasp  the  Judge's  purpose,  but  he 
had  a  vague  feeling  that  he  was  being  put  on  his  de- 
fense. 

"  Yes,  five  Hollars  a  week,"  he  said,  with  a  slight 
grimace. 

Mother,  Jane,  the  Judge,  man  of  humble  begin- 
nings, all  gazed  at  him  in  a  crescendo  of  disap- 
proval. 

"  Times  have  changed."  He  laughed  lightly. 
41  The  cost  of  living  has  gone  up." 

There  was  no  answering  gleam  in  Jane's  brown 
eyes.  His  mother  looked  grieved. 

"  Product  and  labor  have  always  been  rated  ac- 
cording to  the  law  of  supply  and  demand,"  quoth 
the  Judge,  ponderously. 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  demand  for  my 
labor,"  said  Tom.  Jane's  face  was  changeless. 


56  THE  COUNTRY.  BOY 

"How  about  that,  mother?"  he  asked,  his  smile 
seeking  hers. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  did  not  accept  the  Judge's 
offer,  she  answered  gravely.  He  turned  to  Jane. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  that?  "  he  demanded. 
"  Even  mother  doesn't  think  me  worth  more  than 
five  dollars  a  week." 

Jane  avoided  him.  Her  eyes  dwelt  sympathetic- 
ally on  Mrs.  Wilson.  Tom  shook  himself  impa- 
tiently, walked  to  the  window  and  gazed  across  the 
lawn  with  an  air  of  great  interest,  at  a  dog-fight  out 
in  the  street. 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  ride?"  asked  Mrs. 
Wilson. 

"  Perfectly  bully,"  said  Jane.  "  The  country  is 
as  pretty  as  it  can  be,  with  the  leaves  turning  to  yel- 
low and  gold.  And  Tom  is  getting  to  be  a  splendid 
chauffeur." 

"  Humph !  "  said  the  Judge.  "  Have  any  acci- 
dents?" 

"  None  this  afternoon,"  said  Tom  over  his  shoul- 
der. "  A  bunch  of  hogs  got  in  our  way  this  morn- 
ing. I  fear  some  of  them  didn't  live  to  regret 

it." 

"  Whom  did  they  belong  to?  " 

"  Hemingway,  I  think,"  said  Tom.  "  He  acted 
like  it." 

"  Hemingway ! "  exclaimed  the  unfortunate 
Judge.  "  Good  Lord !  He  may  be  down  on  me 


"KEEP  OFF  THE  GR4SS"  57 

any  minute  with  a  bill  big  enough  to  raise  the  mort- 
gage on  his  farm.'* 

Jane  rushed  to  the  rescue.  "  Don't  be  angry, 
Dad,"  she  pleaded.  "It  wasn't  Tom's  fault. 
The  pigs  ran  right  out  under  the  wheels,  and,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Tom's  good  driving,  the  machine 
would  have  been  smashed  and  we  might  both  have 
been  killed." 

"  But,"  stormed  the  Judge,  "  I've  had  to  pay  that 
man  nearly  two  hundred  dollars  for  animals  that 
I've  never  seen.  It's  outrageous.  I'm  not  going 
to  submit  to  it  any  longer.  I  wouldn't  care  if  the 
machine  were  smashed." 

"  If  you  feel  that  way  about  it,  you'd  better  give 
up  automobiling,"  suggested  Tom. 

"  I  will,"  cried  the  Judge.  "  And  I'll  give  the 
confounded  machine  to  anybody  that'll  haul  it 
away." 

Tom  clapped  his  hands  together..  "  lYou're  on," 
he  said.  "  The  car  is  mine." 

"  Why,  Tom,"  said  his  mother,  wonderingly. 
"  What  will  you  do  with  it?  " 

Tom  was  enjoying  Belknap's  discomfiture.  "  Ask 
the  Judge,  mother,"  he  said.  "  He'll  tell  you  you 
shouldn't  spoil  the  first  business  chance  I've  ever 
had.  If  he'll  leave  the  gasoline  in  it,  I  won't 
even  have  to  haul  it  away."  He  turned  to  the 
Judge.  "  I'll  take  it  with  me."  He  made  for  the 
door. 


58  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Come  along,  mother,"  he  called.  "  I'll*  drive 
you  home." 

The  Judge  barred  his  way.  "  Don't  be  hasty, 
young  man,"  he  said.  "  You've  forgotten  one  im- 
portant essential." 

"What's  that?"  queried  Tom,  innocently. 

"  The  money  to  pay  for  it." 

"  You  said  you'd  give  it  away,"  insisted  Tom. 

"  I'm  not  quite  a  fool,"  retorted  the  Judge,  who 
was  beginning  to  get  red  around  the  ears. 

Tom  threw  up  hands,  limp  with  resignation. 
"Oh,  well—"  he  began. 

The  telephone  in  the  next  room  rang  briskly. 
Sarah,  the  maid,  entered. 

"  Mr.  Hemingway  wishes  to  speak  to  you,  sir," 
she  announced. 

"  I  knew  it,"  stormed  the  Judge.  He  shook  an 
angry  finger  at  Tom.  "  What  did  I  tell  you?  "  he 
demanded.  He  started  towards  the  'phone.  Jane 
interposed. 

"  Let  me  speak  to  him,  Dad,"  she  said.  "  Hem- 
ingway has  no  right  to  leave  his  gate  open  as  he 
does.  I  think  he  does  it  on  purpose  when  he  sees 
our  car  coming,  and  I  mean  to  tell  him  so." 

They  went  out  together.  Sarah  whisked  up  the 
tea-tray,  and  followed.  Tom  turned  to  his  mother. 

"  Well,  mother,"  said  he,  "  we  came  near  having 
an  automobile  in  the  family.  If  he  hadn't  asked 
me  for  money,  we  would  have  had  it." 


"KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS"  59 

,"  said  his  mother  earnestly,  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  be  so  flippant.  Can't  you  see  the  impres- 
sion you  are  making  on  Judge  Belknap?  " 

"  Goodness  gracious,  mother,"  said  Tom,  taking 
her  face  between  his  hands,  "  what's  come  over  you 
so  suddenly  to  make  you  look  so  serious?  " 

"  I've  been  talking  with  Judge  Belknap,"  she  ex- 
plained. 

"  That's  enough  to  make  anybody  look  serious," 
laughed  Tom. 

"  He  has  made  me  realize  that  I  haven't  been 
fair  to  you,"  she  continued. 

"  Absurd,"  said  Tom. 

But  the  Judge's  accusation  —  she  felt  it  to  be 
such  —  had  stirred  her  deeply.  She  would  spare 
herself  nothing. 

"  No,  it's  true,  dear,"  she  went  on  in  a  voice  she 
strove  to  hold  firm.  *'  I've  been  very  selfish  to  keep 
you  near  me  so  long.  I  can  see  that  now.  YouVe 
grown  up  without  my  knowing  it.  I  mustn't  stand 
in  your  way  any  longer." 

She  stopped  short,  dreading  to  say  what  must 
next  be  said,  fearful  lest  the  tears  in  her  voice 
should  rise  and  drown  her  utterance.  Tom's 
anger  rose  against  the  man  who  had  caused  her 
distress. 

"  See  here,  mother,"  he  said,  with  affectionate 
severity,  "  you  mustn't  let  Judge  Belknap  worry  you 
about  me.  He  has  an  idea  I'm  going  to  the  devil 


6o  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

simply  because  I  won't  take  the  position  he  offered 
me." 

"  But  you  must  start  somewhere,"  she  insisted. 

"  But  it  would  be  a  mistake  not  to  start  right. 
Now,  don't  you  worry.  I'll  get  something  soon, 
and  it  will  be  something  worth  while  —  something 
big." 

"Something  big!"  If  Mrs.  Wilson  had  cher- 
ished any  covert  doubt  of  the  wisdom  of  Belknap's 
advice,  it  was  driven  out  by  this  re-echoed  phrase  — 
Tom's  own  expression,  last  heard  from  the  Judge's 
lips,  now  from  Tom's  again.  She  placed  her  hands 
on  the  boy's  shoulders.  Her  voice  was  quite  steady 
now. 

"  Tom,  "dear."  She  paused.  "  If  you  really 
want  to  go  to  New  York,  I'm  willing." 

"  Mother !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  He  stepped  back, 
surprised,  a  trifle  hurt. 

"  I'm  willing,  dear,"  she  repeated.  "  In  fact,  I 
want  you  to  go." 

"  You  want  me  to  go  —  to  leave  you  and  go  to 
New  York!  "  Tom  mistrusted  his  ears,  an  injustice 
to  those  faithful  servants,  but  then  Tom  had  no  no- 
tion how  heroically  the  maternal  conscience  can 
stretch  in  an  emergency.  But  he  rightly  imputed 
his  mother's  attitude  to  the  Judge's  influence.  He 
met  the  issue  squarely. 

"  I'm  never  going  to  leave  you,  mother,"  he  said 
decisively,  "  so  put  that  idea  out  of  your  head. 


"KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS"  61 

When  the  time  comes  to  go  to  New  York,  we'll  go 
together."  He  gave  her  a  kiss  to  silence  her,  and 
a  hug  to  boot.  She  started  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Not  going  home?  "  he  said. 

"  I  might  as  well,"  she  replied  hopelessly.  Be- 
fore she  could  gain  the  door,  it  opened,  framing  the 
ungainly  figure  of  Hezekiah  Jenks,  gorgeously  ar- 
rayed. 

Office  hours  were  over,  and  Hezekiah  had  wasted 
no  time  in  availing  himself  of  his  new  entree  to  the 
Belknap  mansion,  equivocal  though  it  was.  He 
had  lingered  only  long  enough  to  envelop  his  long- 
drawn  person  in  its  Sunday  best.  Tom  eyed  him 
critically. 

Light  brown  trousers,  with  large  black  checks, 
napped  about  his  legs  as  he  strode  into  the  room. 
His  black  coat  was  of  the  cutaway  type,  dear  to 
rural  dandies.  Both  garments  had  been  built  to 
meet  the  demands  of  the  average  customer,  and  they 
failed  to  measure  up  to  the  extraordinary  require- 
ments of  Hez's  ankles  and  wrists.  The  brevity  of 
his  trousers  served,  however,  to  display  a  length  of 
pink  stocking,  which  might  otherwise  have  blushed 
unseen.  His  satin  necktie  was  pink,  too,  and  a  lus- 
trous rhinestone  nestled  in  its  folds. 

The  pink  articles  and  the  jewel,  be  it  remarked, 
were  supplementary  adornments,  variations  from 
Hez's  usual  sober  scheme,  such  as  might  invite  the 
delicate  fancy  of  the  Belknap  heiress.  A  flower 


62  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

in  Hez's  buttonhole  owed  its  station  to  a  similar 
chance. 

Tom  marvelled  at  this  irruption  of  finery.  Then 
an  incredible  suspicion  smote  him.  Suspicion  grew 
almost  to  the  stature  of  certainty  when  Hez,  without 
a  word,  with  hardly  more  than  a  glance  at  Tom  or 
his  mother,  stalked  across  the  room  toward  a  door, 
behind  which  the  voice  of  Jane  at  the  telephone 
could  be  distinguished. 

"  Hello,  Hez,"  Tom  hailed.  Hez  kept  on  his 
way. 

"  Hello,  Hez."  Tom's  tone  was  peremptory, 
challenging.  Hez  halted.  He  turned  to  Tom 
with  a  grin.  It  was  a  disturbing  grin,  a  grin  just 
as  significant  as  Hez  dared  to  make  it. 

Tom  looked  him  over  disdainfully.  "  How's  the 
messenger  boy?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'd  rather  be  a  messenger  than  not  have  a  job," 
retorted  Hez,  his  nose  in  the  air. 

Tom  laughed  unpleasantly.  "  That's  one  on 
me,"  he  conceded.  "  Thought  maybe  you'd  come 
to  see  Jane." 

"  I  did,"  Hez  avowed. 

Tom  took  a  swift  step  nearer.  "What  for?" 
he  demanded. 

Hez  shrank  in  his  clothes,  but  stood  his  ground. 
"  What  do  you  come  to  see  her  for?  "  he  asked. 

"  Look  here,"  blazed  Tom,  his  face  thrust  almost 
into  Hez's.  "  There's  one  thing  I  want  you  to  un- 


"KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS"  63 

derstand  —  no  poaching.  Take  my  tip,  and  keep 
off  the  grass." 

Hez  backed  towards  the  door,  his  arm  crooked  in 
front  of  his  face.  "  Judge  Belknap  has  given  me 
permission  to  walk  where  I  please,"  he  protested, 
with  what  spirit  he  could. 

"That's  all  right,"  retorted  Tom.  "Walk 
where  you  please,  but  mind  you  keep  on  walking." 

"  You  ain't  got  no  right  to  object  so  long  as  the 
old  man  is  willing,"  stammered  Hezekiah. 

"  Perhaps  we'd  better  see  about  that  right  now." 
Tom  leaned  forward.  He  made  a  motion  to  pull 
up  his  sleeves. 

"  Tom,"  interposed  his  mother  swiftly,  "  you 
mustn't  hurt  him.  Remember  where  you  are." 

Tom  righted  himself.  His  hands  dropped  to  his 
sides.  Before  he  could  speak  the  door  opened,  ad- 
mitting Belknap,  followed  by  Jane.  The  Judge 
glanced  keenly  at  the  rivals.  Hezekiah  he  surveyed 
from  stocking  to  cravat. 

"  Why,  Hez !  "  he  exclaimed  wonderingly. 

"  You  said  I  could  come  back,  sir,"  Hez  hastened 
to  remind  him. 

Belknap  looked  uncomfortable  for  a  moment. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  gruffly.  "  I'm  glad 
you  did.  Here!  Run  over  to  the  office  and  bring 
me  all  those  back  bills  of  Hemingway's.  All  of 
them,  from  the  time  we  first  got  the  ujtomobile. 
Get  back  as  soon  as  you  can.  Understand?  " 


64  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Hez,  and  hurried  to  the  door. 

Hez  was  back  in  his  natural  role  of  messenger 
boy.  He  was  a  gaudy  messenger  boy.  Tom 
smiled. 

"And,  Hez—"  called  the  Judge. 

Hez  stood  motionless,  his  hat  half  way  to  his 
head. 

"  Have  that  car  put  up  in  the  garage  and  see  that 
it  isn't  taken  out  again.  Understand?  " 

Hez  grinned  widely,  widely  enough  to  include 
Tom,  who  was  standing  apart. 

"  By  nobody,  sir?  "  His  tones  vibrated  with  un- 
holy joy. 

"  By  nobody,"  growled  the  Judge.  "  Is  that 
plain  enough?  The  car's  for  sale.  Tack  up  a 
notice  in  the  post-office  to  that  effect.  Hurry 
now." 

Hez  hurried.  He  shot  one  malignant,  madden- 
ing glance  at  Tom,  and  vanished. 

The  Judge  addressed  himself  to  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Hemingway  won't  stick  me  again,"  he  threat- 
ened. "Jane  assures  me  that  he  opens  his  gate 
and  shoos  his  live  stock  into  the  road  whenever  he 
sees  my  car  coming,  and  that's  a  prison  offense." 

"  That's  exactly  what  he  does,"  said  Jane.  "  He 
ought  to  be  put  in  jail." 

Tom  forced  a  laugh.  "  You've  got  the  right 
idea,"  he  chimed  in. 

Mrs.  Wilson  moved  uneasily  toward  the  door. 


"KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS"  65 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  stay  to  see  what  happens,"  she 
said.  "  Coming,  dear?"  she  asked  Tom. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  Judge  Belknap  a  minute," 
he  responded,  deliberately.  "  We  both  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  each  other,  I  believe." 

His  mother  hesitated. 

"  Please  don't  wait,"  said  Tom,  quickly.  "  I'll 
be  along  pretty  soon." 

"  I'll  go  with  you  as  far  as  the  street,"  said  Jane. 
"  I  want  a  little  walk,  anyway.  I'll  be  back  shortly, 
Dad." 

She  drew  Mrs.  Wilson's  arm  through  hers,  and 
led  her  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   TRIUMPH    FOR   WOMAN   SUFFRAGE 

TOM  at  the  window,  watched  his  mother  and 
Jane  half  way  down  the  drive  before  he  turned 
to  confront  the  Judge.  Belknap  seated  himself  be- 
hind his  table,  armed  himself  with  a  sheaf  of  papers, 
and  retired  into  his  professional  shell.  Thus  forti- 
fied, he  awaited  the  onset.  Tom  stood  before  him. 
The  Judge  went  on  reading.  Tom  opened  hostil- 
ities with  a  cough.  The  Judge  couldn't  hear.  Tom 
coughed  again,  insistently. 

The  Judge  looked  up.  He  put  down  his  papers 
with  a  frown  of  annoyance. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  demanded  sharply,  "what  do 
you  wish  to  see  me  about?  " 

It  was  Tom's  day  of  battles,  and  one  more  didn't 
matter.  The  Judge's  manner  failed  to  abash  him. 
His  eyes  challenged  the  Judge's  frown. 

"  What's  your  idea  in  getting  my  mother  worried 
labout  me?  "  he  asked. 

The  Judge  was  not  prepared  for  this  simple  di- 
rectness. He  hastened  to  interpose  a  disclaimer. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  worried  her,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  have,"  declared  Tom.  "  She's  up  in 
the  air  a  thousand  feet.  What  have  you  been  tell- 
ing her?" 

66 


TRIUMPH  FOR  WOMAN  SUFFRAGE       67 

Belknap  took  refuge  in  generalities.  "  Only 
what  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  tell  her,"  he  replied. 
"  She  says  you  want  to  go  to  New  York." 

"  I  do,  but — "  persisted  Tom,  "  I  don't  want  my 
mother  made  unhappy  about  it." 

"  It's  not  a  question  of  her  happiness,  but  of  your 
future,"  Belknap  replied.  "  I  think  she  realizes 
that  now." 

Tom  stuck  to  the  question.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
New  York  till  I  can  go  right,"  he  declared.  "  Just 
at  present  I'm  satisfied  where  I  am." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  going  right '?  "  asked 
the  Judge,  with  sarcastic  emphasis. 

Tom's  plans  for  his  mother  were  his  own  busi- 
ness, he  reflected.  He  contented  himself  with  re- 
plying: "When  the  proper  opportunity  presents 
itself." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  think  much  of  the  opportu- 
nities here  in  Fairview,"  observed  the  Judge. 

"  Yes,  for  some  fellow  that  wants  to  be  the  town 
constable.  Now  Hez  " —  he  paused  and  looked  the 
Judge  full  in  the  eye  — "  Hez  would  regard  that 
job  as  the  pinnacle  of  success.  I " —  another  em- 
phatic pause  — "  want  something  better." 

He  took  a  turn  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
Judge's  table. 

"  This  town's  good  enough  in  its  way."  Tom 
wanted  to  be  perfectly  fair  to  his  birthplace.  "  But 
—  there's  a  lack  of  enterprise." 


68  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  And  how  do  you  make  that  out?  "  asked  Fair- 
view's  leading  citizen,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
thirsts  for  enlightenment. 

"  Take  yourself  for  instance,"  advised  Tom. 
The  Judge  stiffened.  "  You  are  by  far  the  wealth- 
iest man  we  have.  When  there's  anything  to  be 
done,  everyone  looks  to  you."  The  Judge  let  down 
a  trifle. 

"  Yet  —  what  have  you  done?  " 

Tom  propounded  this  delicate  question  in  the  tri- 
umphant tone  of  one  who  clinches  his  argument. 
The  Judge  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  looked 
at  Tom  while  he  swallowed  hard,  twice.  Tom's 
face  was  as  unconscious  as  a  baby's.  The  Judge 
tamed  himself. 

"  I've  done  my  share,  I  think,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
from  which  any  trace  of  irritation  had  been  care- 
fully filtered. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Tom  acknowledged,  "  you've  given 
us  a  soldiers'  monument  that's  increased  taxation 
and  a  library  filled  with  books  that  nobody  reads. 
Why  don't  you  give  us  something  worth  while? 
Something,"  he  added,  "  that  the  town  really 
needs?" 

"For  instance?"  asked  the  Judge. 

"  A  newspaper,"  elucidated  Tom.  "  Why,  there 
isn't  another  town  of  our  size  in  the  State  that  hasn't 
a  local  sheet." 

"  We  are  too  near  the  large  cities  to  need  a  paper 


TRIUMPH  FOR  WOMAN  SUFFRAGE       69 

of  our  own,"  objected  the  Judge.  "We  manage 
to  get  the  news." 

"  National  and  world  news,  yes,"  admitted  Tom. 
"  But  what  of  the  local  stuff?  I  should  think  you 
would  want  one,  if  only  to  advance  your  own  inter- 
ests. You've  exhausted  the  political  possibilities  of 
Fairview,"  he  argued.  "  Soon  you'll  want  to  go 
farther.  With  a  live  newspaper  behind  you  " — 
Tom's  tone  was  enthusiastic  now  — "  you  might  go 
to  Congress.  Why  not?  But  a  newspaper,  the 
right  kind  of  a  newspaper,  is  absolutely  essential." 

Tom  was  walking  up  and  down  excitedly.  The 
Judge  halted  him  with  a  question. 

"  How  would  that  bring  opportunity  —  to  you?  " 

"  I'll  run  the  paper  for  you,"  explained  Tom. 

The  Judge  allowed  himself  to  smile.  "  What 
makes  you  think  you  are  qualified  for  such  a  posi- 
tion? "  he  asked. 

Tom  took  a  card  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it 
to  Belknap.  He  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
a  satisfied  smile  on  his  face,  as  the  Judge  read: 


This  Is  To  Certify  That 

THOMAS  WILSON 
Is  The  Fully  Accredited 

Representative   Of 
THE    BUFFALO     HERALD 

For   Fairview 
And   Immediate  Vicinity 


70  THE  COUNTRY,  BOY 

(The  Judge  tossed  the  card  on  the  table. 

"  I  don't  think  we  need  discuss  the  subject  any 
further,"  he  said. 

"  That's  up  to  you,"  said  Tom.  "  But  there's  one 
thing  I  wish  you  would  do." 

"  What's  that?  "  asked  the  Judge. 

"  Let  mother  alone.  She  has  troubles  enough 
without  worrying  her  about  me." 

"  You  mustn't  forget  that  I  have  a  personal  in- 
terest at  stake,"  said  the  Judge.  Tom  braced  him- 
self. "  My  daughter's  welfare,"  added  the  Judge. 

Tom  had  felt  it  coming.  "  Oh,  I'm  not  worrying 
about  Jane,"  he  said,  airily. 

"  Neither  am  I  —  now,"  said  the  Judge.  He 
rose  to  take  the  offensive. 

"You  mean,  it's  all  off?" 

The  Judge  was  puzzled.     Tom  took  it  so  gently. 

"  I  think  it  is  better  to  let  the  matter  rest  till 
you've  shown  what  you  can  do,"  he  said,  not  un- 
kindly. 

"  You  'don't  think  I  can  take  care  of  her.  Is  that 
it?"  asked  Tom. 

"  I've  only  your  word  for  it,"  replied  Belknap. 

"  Five  dollars  a  week  wouldn't  do  it,"  Tom  re- 
minded him. 

"  Can  you  do  better  in  New  York?  " 

"  I  should  say  so ;  three  times  as  well."  Tom 
drew  from  his  pocket  Kennedy's  letter.  The  Judge 
was  taken  by  surprise.  He  had  meant  his  question 


TRIUMPH  FOR  WOMAN  SUFFRAGE       71 

about  New  .York  for  a  poser,  and  this  prompt  and 
substantial  reply  impressed  him.  He  knew  Ken- 
nedy well.  He  looked  at  Tom  with  less  disfavor. 

Often  as  he  was  provoked  with  Tom,  Belknap 
really  liked  this  handsome,  blue-eyed  son  of  Jim 
Wilson's,  and  he  would  have  been  genuinely  pleased 
to  learn  of  his  success.  Now  Tom  had  shown  a  dis- 
position to  do  something;  all  might  yet  be  well. 
Even  his  conduct  during  their  morning  interview 
was  shown  in  a  better  light. 

"  You  see,  it  isn't  just  what  I  want,"  Tom  was 
explaining,  "  but  it  will  help  me  to  get  really 
started." 

The  Judge  smiled,  encouragingly. 

"  Take  it,  by  all  means,"  he  advised. 

"  Well,  I  haven't  quite  made  up  my  mind,"  said 
Tom. 

This  answer  displeased  the  Judge.  If  Tom  had 
been  diplomatic,  he  might  even  now  have  accommo- 
dated himself  to  the  swing  of  the  current  and  ridden 
on  the  flood  tide  of  favor.  But  diplomacy  was 
never  an  endowment  of  youth.  The  Judge  hard- 
ened his  heart. 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  he  said.  "  But  meanwhile, 
I  want  you  to  understand  that  any  arrangement  you 
think  you  have  had  with  Jane,  is  at  an  end." 

"  Don't  you  think  she  ought  to  have  something 
to  say  about  that?  "  demanded  Tom. 

Belknap  hesitated.     "  Perhaps  she  has,"  he  said. 


72  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

He  was  thinking  of  Jane's  demeanor  during  the  dis- 
pute a  few  minutes  before.  Her  taking  away  of 
Mrs.  Wilson,  her  delayed  return,  too,  had  a  signifi- 
cance that  had  not  escaped  him.  After  all,  Jane 
was  a  sensible  girl.  Why  not  let  her  and  Tom  have 
it  out?  It  might  well  result  just  as  he  wished.  It 
was  worth  trying. 

"  Perhaps  she  has,"  he  repeated.  "  Would  you 
like  to  talk  with  her?" 

"  I'd  like  to  find  out  where  I  stand,"  said  Tom. 

The  Judge  stepped  to  the  open  window. 

"Jane,"  he  called.  "Jane."  She  answered 
from  down  the  drive.  "  Come  here  a  minute, 
please,"  he  cried. 

The  Judge  walked  to  a  side  door.  He  turned 
and  bowed  permissively  to  Tom. 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  he,  and  went  out,  closing  the 
door  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JANE   EXERCISES   THE   FRANCHISE 

UTI7HY,  where's  Dad?"  asked  Jane,  looking 
VV  around  the  room  with  surprise,  as  she  en- 
tered and  found  Tom  standing  there  alone. 

"  In  there,"  replied  Tom,  jerking  his  thumb  over 
his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  door  Belknap 
had  taken.  He  put  himself  in  her  path  as  she 
started  towards  it  and  looked  down  upon  her  with 
a  funereal  face. 

"  Your  father  wants  me  to  talk  to  you,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

If,  either  by  Tom's  explanation  or  by  some  rapid 
intuition  of  her  own,  Jane's  surprise  was  lessened, 
neither  her  looks  nor  her  speech  betrayed  the  fact. 

"Talk  to  me?  ^  What  about?"  she  inquired 
wonderingly. 

"  About  you,"  said  Tom. 

Jane  laughed.  The  youth  was  so  divertingly  sol- 
emn. "  That  will  be  very  interesting,"  said  she. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  any  joke,"  rejoined  Tom  in  a 
voice  that  reeked  with  reproach.  He  stepped 
closer. 

"  Jane,"  he  demanded,  his  blue  eyes  searching 
73 


74  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

the  brown  depths  of  hers,  "  do  you  care  anything 

for  Hez  Jenks?" 

"Why!  "  She  drew  a  quick  breath.  This  was 
a  genuine  surprise.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"  There  can  be  only  one  meaning  to  that  ques- 
tion," said  Tom,  with  mournful  earnestness.  "  Do 
you?" 

Jane's  poise  had  been  disturbed  only  for  an  in- 
stant. There  was  an  amused  gleam  in  the  brown 
eyes  as  she  replied: 

"  No,  not  in  that  way." 

The  bare  words  were  enough  for  Tom. 
"  That's  all  I  want  to  know,"  he  declared,  with  an 
air  of  great  relief.  "  Gee,  but  they  threw  a  scare 
into  me  just  now,"  he  added,  "  first  Hez,  and  then 
your  Dad." 

And,  with  this  scant  explanation,  he  two-stepped 
gleefully  across  the  room.  Jane's  curiosity  couldn't 
stand  the  pressure.  She  followed. 

"  What  did  they  say?  "  she  asked. 

"  Hez  told  me  that  I  had  no  right  to  object  to 
his  attentions  to  you."  Tom  could  laugh  now  at 
his  recent  anxiety.  Two  tart  words  cut  his  merri- 
ment short. 

"  You  haven't,"  said  Jane. 

Tom  stood  agasp.     "  I  haven't?  "  he  echoed. 

"  No." 

Tom  was  getting  befogged. 

"  Then  you  do  care  for  him,"  he  stammered. 


JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE     75 

"  I  didn't  say  that." 

"  You  mean  you  don't  care  for  me?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that,  either." 

Tom's  bearings  were  wholly  lost. 

"  See  here,  Jane,"  he  exclaimed  hotly.  "  I  want 
it  made  absolutely  clear.  Am  I  being  turned 
down?" 

"  Why,  Tom!  "  said  the  girl,  shocked  at  his  out- 
burst. 

The  note  of  pain  in  her  voice  sobered  Tom. 
He  had  never  heard  it  there  before.  It  made  him 
feel  like  a  brute. 

"  I  can't  go  on  living  in  a  fool's  paradise,"  he 
said,  contritely.  "  You  know  I  haven't  made  any 
secret  of  my  love  for  you.  I  thought  you  felt  the 
same  towards  me.  If  you've  changed  your  mind 
for  any  reason,  or  if  you  think  you've  made  a  mis- 
take, I  want  you  to  say  so  frankly." 

"  Have  your  feelings  changed?  "  Jane  asked  him. 

"  Good  Lord,  no,"  he  exploded. 

"  Then  why  do  you  want  me  to  say  that  mine 
have?"  she  pursued. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  say  so."  He  regarded  her 
wistfully.  "  Unless  it's  true,"  he  added. 

"  It  isn't  true,"  said  the  girl,  softly. 

Tom  hardly  knew  whether  to  feel  pleased  or 
abused.  He  thought  of  his  needless  display  of  tem- 
per. "  Then  why  was  it  necessary  to  get  me  all 
worked  up  about  it?"  he  demanded. 


76  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  do  that,"  Jane  answered.  "  I 
merely  want  you  to  understand  that  you  haven't  any 
rights  —  as  yet." 

The  brown  eyes  met  the  blue  ones  steadily.  A 
bewildered  expression  crept  into  Tom's  gaze. 

"  What  have  I  got?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

Jane  contemplated  him  with  a  perplexity  almost 
equal  to  his  own.  How  could  she,  without  over- 
stepping the  bounds  of  maidenly  convention,  put 
this  preposterous  lover  in  his  place?  She  motioned 
him  to  a  low  divan. 

**  Sit  down,  Tom,"  she  said.  He  seated  himself 
grudgingly  on  the  edge  of  the  cushion,  his  elbows  on 
his  knees,  his  fingers  locked.  Jane  stood  over  him. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  seriously,"  she  prefaced. 

Tom  bounced  from  the  divan.  "  Then  all  you've 
been  saying  so  far  is  a  joke,"  he  cried,  in  a  fresh 
outburst  of  remonstrance. 

"  No,"  said  Jane,  "  but  I  haven't  explained  what 
I  want  to." 

She  laid  a  soft,  restraining  hand  on  Tom's  coat- 
sleeve.  Tom  sunk  reluctantly  back  into  his  former 
attitude. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  admit  it,"  he  grumbled. 

Jane's  perplexity  grew  into  embarrassment  as  she 
looked  down  upon  Tom's  irresponsive  occiput. 
Tom  could  feel  her  gaze  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
but  he  sat  moodily  silent. 


JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE     77 

"  You  say  you  love  me,"  Jane  began,  at  last. 
He  looked  up  at  her  blankly. 

"Do  you?"  she  asked,  with  an  inflection  that 
might  have  denoted  slight  impatience. 

"  Well!  "  cried  Tom,  in  high  dudgeon  at  this  ab- 
surdity. "  What  do  you  suppose  I've  been  raving 
about  all  this  time  ?  " 

Jane  tranquilly  ignored  this  protest.  She  had 
committed  herself  now,  and  was  not  to  be  swerved 
from  her  course.  She  seated  herself  on  the  divan. 
Inconsiderate  Tom  had  failed  to  notice  that  the  seat 
to  which  she  had  pointed  him,  was  amply  commodi- 
ous for  two. 

"  When  two  people  love " —  Jane  calmly 
smoothed  out  her  skirts  — "  the  ultimate  realization 
is  marriage." 

"  Correct,"  assented  Tom.  "  Object,  matri- 
mony." He  grinned  a  foolish  grin.  Jane  went 
on  with  her  catechizing. 

"  We've  never  discussed  that  part  of  it,  have 
we?" 

"  Oh,  see  here,"  expostulated  Tom,  raising  his 
head  to  face  her.  "  I've  always  taken  that  part  of 
it  for  granted." 

"  But  we've  never  discussed  it,"  persisted  the  girl. 
"  In  fact,  I  don't  think  that  you've  ever  asked  me  to 
marry  you." 

"  If  I  haven't  it  was  an  oversight,"  protested 


78  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Tom.  It  was  very  annoying,  this  sudden  streak  of 
speciousness  in  Jane. 

Jane  smiled.  "  But  I  had  to  take  that  part  of  it 
for  granted,"  she  reminded  him. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Jane !  "  exclaimed  the  badgered 
youth.  "  It  seems  to  me  I've  asked  you  a  million 
times." 

Jane  drew  a  long  breath  for  steadiness'  sake. 

"  I  understand  perfectly,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  It's 
been  that  way  ever  since  we  were  children.  I  never 
thought  of  anyone  else,  and  I  don't  suppose  you 
have.  But  we  are  no  longer  children.  We  have 
grown  up,  and  now  we  must  face  the  future." 

She  paused.  Tom  thoughtfully  regarded  his 
knuckles.  A  tinge  of  color  rose  into  her  cheeks, 
but  she  went  on  in  a  low,  even  voice : 

"  You  see,  Tom,  a  woman  grows  older  more  rap- 
idly than  a  man.  Perhaps,  she's  born  older.  At 
any  rate,  she  reaches  the  crisis  of  her  life  long  be- 
fore the  man  does,  and " —  her  voice  wavered, 
dropped  almost  to  a  whisper  — ="  I've  reached  mine 
now." 

Jane's  head  drooped  with  her  courage.  Her 
cheeks  smarted.  She  was  glad  that  Tom's  fists 
continued  to  engross  his  attention. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  crisis  ?  "  he  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"  Marriage,"  she  faltered. 

"  Oh-h-h,"    said    Tom,    and    sat    bolt    upright. 


'JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE     79 

There  was  a  gleam  in  his  eye  that  was  one  part  un- 
derstanding and  two  parts  pleased  arid  hopeful  in- 
quiry. Jane  caught  the  full  import  of  his  gaze, 
with  its  invitation  to  proceed,  and  her  confusion  be- 
came complete. 

"  It  may  not  sound  modest  to  talk  like  this  " — 
she  stumbled  painfully  through  the  words  ^"  but  I 
haven't  any  mother  to  go  to." 

She  was  mortified  that  Tom  should  have  placed 
the  boldest  possible  construction  upon  her  speech. 
His  reply  did  not  serve  to  soothe  her  wounded 
pride. 

"  You  will  have  when  you  marry  me,"  he  said, 
folding  his  arms  contentedly.  She  turned  on  him 
quickly. 

"  You're  taking  it  for  granted  we  will  be  mar- 
ried?" 

Tom  stared.     "Won't  we?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jane. 

"Then  where  is  all  this  talk  leading  to?"  he 
asked  impatiently. 

"  To  an  understanding,  I  hope,"  Jane  answered 
a  trifle  wearily.  She  was  making  so  little  progress. 
It  was  discouraging. 

"What  is  there  to  understand?  I  love  you  and 
you  love  me,  and  the  finish  is  marriage."  Tom 
spoke  with  an  air  of  triumphant  conclusiveness. 

"And  what  then?  What  about  the  future?" 
persisted  Jane. 


8o  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  The  future?  "  repeated  Tom. 

"  Yes,  the  future." 

Tom's  face  brightened.  "  Oh,  you  mean  after 
we  are  married." 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  I'll  always  love  you  Jane."  Tom  looked 
hurt  that  Jane  should  seem  to  cast  a  doubt  upon  his 
eternal  loyalty.  That  any  problem  of  domestic 
economy  was  involved  in  her  questioning,  did  not 
enter  his  head. 

Jane  nursed  her  chin  in  baffled  silence.  She  fell 
to  studying  the  face  before  her.  Aside  from  its 
elemental  juvenility,  it  expressed  nothing  but  simple 
and  sincere  vexation  at  her  lack  of  faith.  There 
wasn't  a  disingenuous  line  in  its  make-up.  Evi- 
dently, if  she  would  pursue  this  line  further,  she 
must  use  unvarnished  English.  Subtleties  of  ex- 
pression were  wasted  on  Tom's  sentimental  single- 
ness of  soul. 

The  fact  was  that,  within  the  last  few  minutes, 
Jane  had  received  some  surprising  new  impressions 
of  Tom  Wilson,  and  now,  half-unconsciously,  she 
was  seeking  to  collect  and  arrange  them  for  her  im- 
mediate necessities.  Like  her  father,  she  had  been 
disappointed  in  Tom.  Almost  she  might  have 
adopted  the  Judge's  words :  "  I'm  sorry  to  say  that 
the  boy  isn't  what  I  thought  him."  But  Jane 
wasn't  going  to  leave  the  boy  to  his  foolishness,  as 


JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE     81 

her  father  had  done.  She  felt  sorry  for  Tom,  more 
than  she  blamed  him.  His  boyish  irresponsibility 
was  irritating,  most  irritating.  But  it  was  char- 
acteristic of  Tom,  and  he  had  failed  only  in  rising 
to  meet  a  crisis  —  her  crisis,  which  she  had  thrust 
upon  him.  He  could  not  be  held  responsible  for 
being  irresponsible.  That  would  be  robbing  ir- 
responsibility of  its  sole  perquisite.  Jane  was  trying 
to  be  just. 

Besides,  she  had  more  at  stake  than  her  father. 
For  the  sake  of  an  ancient  pledge,  the  Judge  had 
sought  "  to  make  a  man  of  Jim's  son,"  and  failed. 
For  the  sake  of  her  own  happiness,  Jane  must  not 
fail. 

Tom  was  growing  fidgety  under  her  long  scrutiny. 
Jane  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  Either  you  can't  or  you  won't  understand  me," 
she  resumed.  "  There  is  a  practical  as  well  as  a 
romantic  side  to  marriage.  It  involves  great  re- 
sponsibilities." 

Tom  jumped  to  his  feet.  "  Oh,"  he  said  petu- 
lantly, "  I  suppose  you're  thinking  about  that  job 
again." 

"I'm  thinking  of  your  attitude  in  regard  to  it," 
said  Jane. 

"  Great  Scott,  Jane  I  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  Lots 
of  fellows  have  got  married  with  less  prospects  than 
I  have.  It's  the  responsibilities  of  marriage  that 


82  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

make  them  hustle.  It  gives  them  an  incentive. 
Give  me  the  incentive  and  I'll  be  the  finest  little 
hustler  you  ever  saw." 

Jane  looked  unconvinced. 

"  It's  only  a  question  of  time  till  I  strike  some- 
thing big,"  argued  Tom.  "  Luck  can't  run  against 
me  forever." 

Jane  rose  the  better  to  declare  herself. 

"  That's  just  it,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  It's  that  that 
makes  me  afraid.  You  look  on  everything  as  just 
a  matter  of  luck." 

"Then  what  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Character." 

Tom's  face  indicated  renewed  perplexity.  "  A 
woman  is  dependent  upon  her  husband's  character 
for  her  happiness,"  Jane  explained. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  my  character?  "  de- 
manded the  harassed  youth. 

Now,  if  ever,  was  the  time  for  candor. 

"  You  haven't  any,"  said  Jane. 

"What?"  shrieked  Tom. 

"  It  hasn't  formed,"  continued  Jane.  She  was 
giving  Tom  the  resultant  of  her  late  impressions 
and  her  cogitations  thereon,  and  she  pronounced 
judgment  with  careful  deliberation.  "  It  hasn't 
crystallized.  You're  only  an  irresponsible  boy, 
without  one  settled  aim  or  conviction." 

Tom  threw  up  his  hands,  in  despair  at  such  un- 
reasonableness. "  You  needn't  go  any  further, 


'JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE      83 

Jane,"  he  said.  "  If  this  is  to  be  a  psychological 
analysis  of  something  I  haven't  got,  it's  too  deep 
for  me."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  approached 
her  and  seized  her  hands.  "  There's  only  one  thing 
in  my  mind  and  that  is  —  do  you  want  to  marry  me? 
I  haven't  any  fears  for  the  future,  not  one,  and,  if 
you  want  to  see  me  prove  my  love  and  my  ability 
to  provide  for  you,  come  right  out  with  me  now, 
and  we'll  get  married  without  telling  a  soul  about 
it.  What  do  you  say?  " 

He  stopped  breathlessly.  Jane,  struck  dumb  by 
this  precipitate  wooing,  her  pulses  quickened,  her 
will  relaxed  despite  herself,  could  frame  no  reply. 
Tom's  grasp  on  the  girl's  hands  tightened.  He 
drew  her  closer. 

"Will  you  take  a  chance  with  me?"  he  urged. 
"  Will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

Jane  rallied  her  scattered  forces.  She  fought  to 
free  her  hands. 

"  No,"  she  said.  Her  voice  was  stubborn  with! 
the  effort  the  syllable  cost  her. 

"You  won't?" 

"No  — I  — won't." 

Tom  dropped  her  hands.  "  That  settles  it  then." 
He  dug  his  hands  savagely  into  his  trousers  pockets 
and  swaggered  to  the  window. 

Jane  followed  him  with  misty  eyes.  She  waited. 
Tom  wrapped  himself  in  tragic  silence  and  stared 
out  across  the  lawn.  She  walked  up  behind  him 


$4  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

and  placed  a  coaxing  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Tom 
didn't  move  so  much  as  an  eye-muscle. 

"  I  love  you,  Tom,"  she  said  timidly. 

"  Fine,"  said  Tom,  out  of  the  window.  "  First 
you  roast  me  to  a  cinder,  then  you  tell  me  that  you 
love  me." 

"  It's  because  I  do  love  you  that  I'm  telling  you 
all  this." 

Tom  shrugged  his  free  shoulder.  "  Just  to  make 
me  feel  good,"  he  commented. 

"  To  make  you  realize  the  best  that  is  in  you," 
returned  Jane.  "  I  want  you  to  be  big  and  strong. 
I  want  you  to  be  —  a  man." 

The  word  stung,  as  she  meant  it  to.  Tom 
wheeled  upon  her.  "  You  make  me  think  I'm  a 
baby,"  he  said. 

"  You're  a  boy,  with  a  boy's  ideals.  You  haven't 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  real  life." 

Tom  suppressed  a  wrathful  reply.  Every  time 
he  lost  his  temper,  Jane  made  her  point.  He 
broke  into  a  derisive  laugh. 

"  That's  right.  Rub  it  in  right  while  you're 
about  it,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  you  think  you  have 
the  wisdom  of  Solomon." 

"  I  have  the  intuitive  knowledge  that  is  born  in 
every  woman,"  replied  Jane,  rather  ponderously  and 
ineffectively,  she  felt. 

Tom's  masculine  superiority  was  not  to  be  put 
down  with  mere  commonplace.  "  That  means,"  he 


JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE      85 

retorted,  "  that  you've  seen  all  there  is  to  see  and 
know  all  there  is  to  know."  He  capped  his  speech 
with  a  bow  of  enforced  and  reluctant  admiration. 

"  Tom,"  the  girl  entreated,  almost  with  a  sob. 
Her  hands  flew  to  her  face. 

Tom  abandoned  that  line  of  defense  instantly. 
He  was  being  made  to  feel  like  a  brute  again. 
Jane  was  very  near  to  tears,  the  last  mode  of  fem- 
inine attack,  and  the  deadliest.  Tom  weakened  at 
the  prospect.  It  was  his  first  experience  of  such 
warfare,  but  the  eternal  cowardice  of  his  sex  mas- 
tered him.  He  was  ready  to  capitulate. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  surlily.  He  walked  back  to 
the  divan  in  token  of  submission.  "  I'll  admit 
everything  you  say.  I'm  no  good  —  don't  know  a 
thing  —  haven't  any  right  on  earth."  He  flopped 
into  his  seat,  kerplunk.  "  What  do  you  want  me 
to  do?" 

Jane  smiled  inwardly  at  this  heaped-up  irony. 
She  had  won,  and  she  knew  it,  and  could  well  afford 
a  final  fling  to  the  vanquished.  She  took  her  old 
stand  in  front  of  him,  to  dictate  the  terms  of  sur- 
render. The  office  was  a  novel  one.  She  found  it 
a  trifle  awkward.  She  had  recourse  to  parable. 

"  I  want  you  to  find  yourself,"  she  began. 

"Where?"  queried  matter-of-fact  Tom. 

"  In  the  crucible  of  experience." 

"  Just  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  The  ques- 
tion helped  her.  She  specified: 


86  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Go  out  into  the  world  of  men  and  women  and 
learn  to  know  yourself.  Find  out  what  it  is  you 
want,  and  then  try  to  get  it." 

"  I  know  now  what  I  want.     iYou." 

"  I  know  what  I  want,"  she  parried.  "  Love  and 
protection." 

Tom  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Can't  I  give  you 
both?  "he  asked. 

"  You  haven't  tried." 

"What  do  you  suppose  I've  been  doing?"  he 
cried. 

"  Only  talking,"  said  Jane.  She  was  pretty  sure 
of  her  ground  to  venture  that  —  almost  too  sure, 
it  seemed.  Tom's  brow  wrinkled.  She  went  on 
quickly: 

"  You  can't  know  what  it  is  you  want.  [You've 
spent  your  whole  life  here  in  Fairview,  among  the 
village  people.  You've  never  been  anywhere." 

"  I've  been  to  Buffalo,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Yes,  for  two  weeks." 

"  That  was  long  enough." 

Jane  refused  to  be  drawn  into  a  discussion  of 
Buffalo  as  a  fortnightly  crucible  of  experience.  She 
continued:  "  It  wouldn't  matter  if  you  were  content 
to  remain  here,  but  you  are  not.  You  have  always 
had  a  desire  to  go  to  a  large  city.  Sooner  or  later, 
you  will  go.  And  what  then?  " 

She  paused  to  assure  herself  of  Tom's  undivided 
attention. 


'JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE     '87 

"  You've  never  seen  real  life,"  she  reiterated. 
"  How  do  you  know  you  won't  see  some  girl  you'll 
like  better?  Some  girl  who  is  prettier  or  better 
suited  to  your  new  standards?  And,  if  such  a  thing 
should  happen — "  Tom  was  grinning.  She 
paused  again,  impressively.  Tom  straightened  his 
face  — "  if  such  a  thing  should  happen,  how  much 
better  it  will  be  that  you  are  free  to  choose.  For 
that  is  the  way  I  want  you  to  feel,  per-fect-ly  free, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

There  was  a  hint  of  defiance  in  her  tones,  a  vague 
challenge,  not  to  the  boy  beside  her,  but  to  the  man 
he  was  to  become.  The  boy  did  not  get  it.  He 
laughed  lightly. 

"  That's  absurd,"  he  said. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  she  persisted.  "  Many  a  man  has 
ruined  his  life  by  choosing  before  he  knew  what  he 
really  wanted  —  many  a  woman,  too.  Besides, 
there's  your  career.  If  you  are  to  have  one,  you 
must  soon  begin.  iYou  can't  go  through  life  just 
waiting  for  what  luck  will  bring  you.  As  for  me, 
I'm  a  girl,  and  I  can't  wait  = —  long." 

Tom's  face  lengthened.  He  was  beginning  to 
see  lights. 

"  Think  it  over,  Tom,"  the  girl  concluded,  very 
softly. 

There  was  a  long  silence.     Tom  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  have  a  chance  to  go  to  New  York,"  he  said. 
*'  Do  you  want  me  to  go?  " 


88  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  I  think  it  will  be  best,"  she  said,  striving  to  hide 
her  elation. 

"Soon?" 

"  As  soon  as  possible." 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,  Jane,"  announced  Tom 
with  an  air  of  discovery.  "  I've  got  to  make 
good." 

"  You  will,"  said  Jane.     "  You  must." 

"  I  guess  you're  right,  Jane.  In  fact,  I  know 
you're  right.  It's  hard  to  face  the  truth  sometimes, 
but,  when  it  hits  you  full  in  the  face  and  gets  under 
the  skin,  a  fellow  has  to  admit  it,  even  if  it  does 
hurt.  There  isn't  much  to  me,"  he  went  on  dole- 
fully. "  I  can  see  that  now.  But  I've  still  got  a 
chance,  and  I'm  going  to  take  it." 

His  voice  rang  at  the  end  with  the  clear  note  of 
determination.  "  Good,"  said  Jane  joyfully. 
"  That's  the  way  I  like  to  hear  you  talk." 

Tom  was  all  energy  now.  He  walked  up  and 
down  on  his  toes  as  he  talked. 

"  How  long  do  you  give  me?  "  he  asked. 

"To  make  good?" 

"Yes." 

"  Just  as  long  as  you  like." 

Tom  came  to  a  standstill.  "  No,"  he  objected. 
"  That  wouldn't  be  fair.  You've  just  said  you 
couldn't  wait  long." 

"  Six  months,"  suggested  Jane.     "  A  year." 

"And  then,  what?" 


'JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE      89 

"  Then,  if  you  are  still  of  the  same  mind  about 
me  s —  come  back." 

"  You're  on."  Tom  seized  her  hand  and  pumped 
away  rapturously.  "  I'll  see  mother  right  away. 
She'll  let  me  go.  She  said  so  this  afternoon." 

His  enthusiasm  was  catching.  "  You'll  succeed," 
cried  Jane,  exultant  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken. 
"  I  know  you  will." 

"  You  bet  I  will,"  he  boasted.  "  And  I'll  show 
some  of  the  people  here  what  a  fellow  can  do  in  a 
large  city." 

He  strode  to  the  window  and  looked  out  doubt- 
fully. Heaven  be  thanked!  The  dilatory  genius 
of  all  messenger  boys  had  proved  too  strong  for  the 
malice  of  Hez  Jenks.  The  automobile  was  still 
where  Tom  had  left  it. 

"  Let's  go  for  a  drive  and  talk  the  whole  thing 
over,"  he  proposed. 

Jane  tripped  from  the  room  to  find  her  hat,  just 
as  her  father,  anxious  at  the  long  delay,  entered  by 
the  door  opposite.  The  Judge  was  plainly  sur- 
prised at  her  gaiety  of  motion.  He  turned  inquir- 
ingly to  Tom,  who  stood  by  the  window,  his  hands 
jammed  in  his  coat  pockets,  a  sheepish  grin  on  his 
face. 

"Well?"  said  Belknap. 

"  I  guess  you  were  right  about  that,"  said  Tom. 

"Yes?"  questioned  the  Judge,  with  a  pleased 
glance  through  the  door  Jane  had  taken. 


9o  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Only  in  a  way,  though,"  supplemented  Tom. 
"  Jane  made  a  fine  suggestion." 

"What's  that?" 

"  I'm  going  to  New  York.  If  I  make  good 
within  a  year,  I'm  coming  back,  and  we'll  be  mar- 
ried." 

"  If  you  make  good,"  repeated  the  Judge,  with 
much  significance  of  emphasis. 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  good,  all  right." 

The  Judge  contemplated  the  cocksure  youth  with 
a  prophetic  eye,  but  curbed  himself. 

"Nothing  would  please  me  better,"  he  said 
simply. 

"  Then  you  approve,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  think  it  a  very  wise  arrangement." 

It  was  not  an  enthusiastic  approval,  but  Tom  was 
too  full  of  his  plans  and  of  Jane's  ingenuity  to  notice 
that. 

"  Funny  how  clever  women  are  about  these 
things,"  he  observed,  by  way  of  a  delicate  compli- 
ment to  Jane's  father.  "  Neither  of  us  would  have 
had  sense  enough  to  think  of  an  idea  like  that." 
He  jogged  Belknap's  elbow  affably.  "  Now,  would 
we?"  he  asked. 

The  paternal  face  and  neck  seemed  suddenly  to 
swell  with  flattery.  The  paternal  eye  gazed  con- 
gestedly  at  Tom.  Even  the  paternal  voice  seemed 
affected,  for,  when  the  Judge  spoke,  it  was  with  an 
effort  that  had  all  the  effect  of  boisterousness. 


JANE  EXERCISES  THE  FRANCHISE     91 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  bellowed.  "  The  idea  is  much  too 
big  for  either  of  us."  His  fingers  worked  at  his 
collar.  "  When  do  you  expect  to  leave?  "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  presume  you  will  accept  the  position  with  Mr. 
Kennedy?  " 

"  It  will  do  to  start  with.  It  will  give  me  a 
chance  to  look  around." 

"  Just  so,"  commented  the  Judge. 

"  I'm  ready,  Tom,"  announced  Jane,  at  the  door. 
She  stopped  at  the  little  mirror  to  straighten  her 
hat.  "  Come  along,"  she  cried.  She  stepped  out 
through  the  French  window  and  disappeared  down 
the  piazza. 

Tom  lingered. 

"  Good-bye,  Judge  Belknap,"  he  said,  extend- 
ing his  hand.  "  I'll  see  you  before  the  year  is 
out." 

"  Provided  you  don't  fail,"  croaked  the  Judge. 

"  No  chance  of  that,"  chirruped  Tom. 

"  But  if  you  do." 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  said  Tom.  He  pause'd  with 
his  hand  on  the  window.  "  I'll  never  show  up  here 
a  failure.  So  long." 

Hez  Jenks  entered,  out  of  breath,  five  minutes 
later.  He  found  the  Judge  in  his  armchair,  buried 
in  thought. 

"  I  couldn't  find  all  the  bills,  sir,"  whined  Hez, 


92  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

forestalling  a  rebuke.  "  They  must  have  been  put 
in  the  wrong  file." 

The  Judge  did  not  stir. 

"  And  the  car  is  gone.  I  guess  Tom  Wilson  took 
it." 

The  Judge  eyed  him  with  'disgust. 

"  Leave  your  bills  on  the  table,"  he  growled, 
"  and  clear  out." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  PROMISED  LAND 

IT  was  near  the  dinner  hour  in  Mrs.  Bannan's 
Fifty-first  street  boarding  house.  Lucy,  the 
black  maid-of-all-work,  was  shuffling  about  the  long 
table  in  the  stuffy  basement  room  where  the  Bannan 
boarders  were  wont  to  assemble  three  times  a  day 
to  absorb  their  allotted  shares  of  the  deglutibles 
dispensed  by  Mrs.  Bannan  under  the  sacred  name 
of  food. 

The  room  was  carpetless,  dingy,  bare  of  all  fur- 
niture except  the  indispensable  tables,  chairs,  and 
sideboard,  and  an  intrusive  sewing  machine.  The 
cloth  that  Lucy  was  straightening,  had  already  re- 
ceived its  baptism  of  soup.  Aside  from  this  casual 
decoration,  the  sole  pretense  at  embellishment  was 
a  pair  of  panels,  one  of  fruit,  the  other  of  fish,  which 
hung,  one  on  either  side  of  the  double  doors  that 
gave  entrance  from  the  hall  and  areaway.  Even 
these  bits  of  virtu  might  conceivably  be  dedicated 
to  utility  rather  than  to  beauty,  their  presence  serv- 
ing to  stimulate,  by  power  of  toothsome  suggestion, 
such  salivary  or  gastric  activity  as  might  be  essen- 
tial to  the  continued  health  and  solvency  of  Mrs. 
Bannan's  paying  guests. 

93 


94  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

It  was  toward  this  hospitable  goal  that  Fred 
Merkle  bent  his  steps,  when,  having  fought  his  way 
clear  of  the  sweltered  subway  throng  at  Fiftieth 
street,  he  found  himself  on  Broadway,  with  collar 
wilted  and  temper  awry.  It  was  the  close  of  a 
scorching  June  day,  the  fourth  of  its  kind,  and  the 
worst;  the  crest  of  the  season's  first  hot  wave;  the 
climax  of  one  of  those  merciless  periods  when  New 
York's  asphalted  canyons,  its  precipices  of  iron  and 
brick  and  stone,  turn  to  a  huge  storage  reservoir^  for 
the  sun's  fierce  rays ;  when  days  of  torment  alternate 
with  sleepless,  breathless  nights;  when  vitality  ebbs 
and  nerves  shrivel  and  crack;  when  men  and  horses 
fall  in  the  street;  when  tenement  babies  die  gasping, 
and  tenement  owners  gather  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren and  flee  to  mountain  and  shore. 

Fred  Merkle  was  not  of  the  number  of  the  elect. 
It  had  been  his  task  to  chronicle  the  fortunes  of 
those  who  stayed. 

All  day  long,  and  through  the  long  days  preced- 
ing, he  had  sat  at  his  desk  in  the  office  of  the  Even- 
ing Orb,  fashioning  the  tale  of  the  city's  distress. 
From  police  and  hospital  reports  he  had  made  up 
the  roll  of  the  dead  and  the  prostrate,  checked  it, 
corrected  it,  added  to  it,  alphabetized  it,  and  set 
down  its  mounting  total.  Hundreds  of  cases  of 
individual  distress,  each  the  kernel  of  a  tragedy, 
had  passed  under  his  eyes  and  hands  in  "  copy." 
After  the  first  day  most  of  these  had  found  their 


THE  PROMISED  LAND  95 

way  to  "  the  hook,"  for  misery  in  the  mass  is  of  a 
dull  sameness,  and  news  space  is  always  crowded. 
Some  unusually  pathetic  incident,  some  bizarre  bit 
perhaps,  might  win  its  way  into  type.  Then  there 
was  constant  watch  to  keep  on  the  Weather  Bureau, 
with  its  precise  records  of  temperature  and  humid- 
ity, degrees  and  percentages  that  meant  life  and 
death;  with  its  inexorable  predictions,  its  postponed 
promises  of  relief.  And  then,  to  blazon  forth  the 
whole  under  flaring,  super-heated  headlines  —  a 
fresh  scream  for  every  edition,  a  fresh  edition  every 
hour! 

Truly  a  nerve-wracking  job  for  a  sensitive  man, 
even  though  he  worked  under  the  shelter  of  an  elec- 
tric fan. 

Merkle  had  never  been  classed  as  a  sensitive  man, 
by  himself  least  of  all.  To  his  associates  at  desk 
and  table,  he  was  perhaps  best  known  as  "  The 
Grouch,"  and  he  accepted  the  title,  had  come  to  prize 
it,  in  fact,  for  the  immunities  it  conferred.  He 
was  disliked  for  his  surly  manner,  feared  for  his 
sharp  tongue,  and,  in  general,  let  alone.  Merkle 
preferred  it  so. 

As  he  threaded  his  way  westward,  Merkle  was 
not  wasting  any  pity  on  himself  or  his  parched  fel- 
low citizens.  He  was  conscious  only  of  that  lassi- 
tude, that  feeling  of  frayed  nerves,  which  may  come 
to  a  man  of  forty-five  at  the  close  of  an  exhausting 
day's  work.  He  was  passing  through  the  "  Gas- 


9'6  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

oline  Belt,"  and  the  heavy  smell  of  garages  and 
smoking  automobiles  struck  him  in  the  face.  He 
felt  the  need  of  a  drink. 

As  he  reached  the  short  flight  of  steps  that  led 
down  into  the  Bannan  area  and  the  region  beyond, 
a  new  odor  —  pungent,  penetrating,  overwhelming, 
rose  to  his  harassed  nostrils.  It  was  the  peerless 
perfume  of  freshly  fried  onions.  His  foot  hung  at 
the  top  step. 

Westward  the  sun  still  lingered,  a  ball  of  red  fire, 
in  the  haze  above  the  North  River.  Down  in  the 
basement  the  gas  jets  had  been  lighted  and  turned 
low,  and  they  flickered,  sickly  yellow,  in  the  rem- 
nant of  daylight  that  filtered  through  the  area 
gratings. 

Merkle  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  like 
a  man  facing  a  noxious  blast,  and  took  the  plunge. 
He  halted  in  the  double  doorway,  between  the  fruit 
arid  the  fish. 

"  Dinner  ready  yet? "  he  growled.  Merkle 
growled  by  habit.  It  sustained  his  role  of  "  The 
Grouch."  Sometimes,  by  way  of  variety,  he 
snarled.  When  emphasis  seemed  necessary,  he 
barked. 

Lucy,  the  black  maid,  faced  him,  a  vinegar  cruet 
in  her  hand. 

"  No,  sir,  it  ain't,"  she  said. 

Merkle  consulted  his  watch.  "  It's  half  past 
six,"  he  announced. 


THE  PROMISED  LAND  97 

"  The  bell  ain't  rang  yet,"  explained  the  black. 

"How  soon?" 

"  'Bout  a  minute." 

Merkle  stepped  across  the  threshold.  He 
sniffed  the  air.  "  Gee,  it's  close  in  here,"  he  grum- 
bled. "Why  don't  you  open  a  window?" 

"  Can't  do  more  than  I'se  a'doin',"  whined  the 
girl. 

Merkle  nodded  a  surly  assent.  "The  old  lady 
does  keep  you  hustling,"  he  said.  He  strode  to  the 
window  and  threw  it  open  with  a  bang,  then  seated 
himself  at  the  little  table  there,  drew  a  newspaper 
from  his  pocket  and  began  to  read  with  the  con- 
scientious care  which  the  faithful  newspaper  man 
gives  to  the  reading  of  every  newspaper,  even  in  his 
hours  of  ease. 

There  was  a  clatter  of  footsteps  on  the  stairway 
that  led  from  the  floor  above.  Merkle  threw  down 
his  paper  with  a  frown  of  annoyance,  which  sof- 
tened almost  to  a  smile  as  Tom  Wilson  entered  the 
room.  Tom  did  not  notice  the  silent  figure  by  the 
window. 

"  Say,  Lucy,"  he  began. 

"  Dinner  ain't  ready  yet,"  she  interrupted  shrilly. 
She  eyed  Tom  with  the  impudent  stare  of  the 
Tenderloin  black.  To  Merkle  she  had  been 
sullenly  deferential.  Merkle  noted  the  dif- 
ference and  pricked  up  his  ears.  He  was  wise 
in  the  ways  of  boarding  house  servants  and  board- 


98  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

ing  house  finance.     Merkle  always  paid  in  advance. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  my  things?  "  demanded 
Tom.  "I  can't  find  them  anywhere." 

"  You've  been  changed  to  the  third  floor  hall 
room  back,"  said  Lucy,  showing  twenty  white  teeth 
at  a  grin. 

"  What,  has  she  moved  me  again?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Mrs.  Bannan  give  that  room  you  had  to  a  new 
man,"  the  girl  condescended  to  explain. 

"  It's  a  wonder  she  wouldn't  say  something  to  me 
about  it,"  lamented  Tom.  The  black  girl  made  no 
reply.  She  threw  a  last  glance  at  the  table,  turned 
up  the  gas  jets  in  the  chandelier,  and  shuffled  from 
the  room  into  the  kitchen  behind. 

Tom  stood  with  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast.  He 
seemed  disheartened,  even  daunted  for  the  moment, 
by  this  new  slap  of  fate  and  his  landlady.  Seven 
months  in  New  York  had  left  a  subtle  impress  on 
Tom  Wilson,  nothing  definite,  some  slight  new  trick 
of  manner  perhaps,  a  glint  of  anxiety  in  the  blue 
eyes.  Whatever  it  was,  was  no  present  business  of 
Merkle's,  and  a  warning  rustle  of  the  newspaper 
made  Tom  aware  that  he  was  not  alone.  He  faced 
about  with  a  start. 

"Hello,  son!"  growled  Merkle.  "What's 
bothering  you?  What's  your  trouble?"  There 
was  a  tang  of  sympathy  in  his  harsh  tones. 

"  Same  old  thing,"  replied  Tom,  with  a  dejection 


THE  PROMISED  LAND  99 

he  hardly  tried  to  mask.  "  Keeps  switching  me 
around." 

"Why  don't  you  do  some  kicking?"  suggested 
Merkle. 

Tom  hesitated.     "  Can't  afford  to,"  he  confessed. 

Merkle  looked  the  boy  over  commiseratingly. 
"  Bad  as  that,  eh?  "  he  drawled. 

Tom  was  not  looking  for  commiseration.  He 
pulled  himself  together. 

"That  to-night's  paper?"  he  asked  briskly. 
"  May  I  see  it  a  minute?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Merkle.  He  handed  it  over. 
"  Haven't  you  found  anything  yet?  "  he  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"  Nothing  definite,"  said  Tom,  from  behind  the 
opened  paper.  His  tone  was  such  as  to  discourage 
too  intimate  inquiry. 

Merkle  sat  silent  for  a  bit.  "  You'll  find  the 
want  ads  in  the  back,  if  that's  what  you're  looking 
for,"  he  volunteered. 

Tom  turned  the  leaves  without  reply. 

"How  did  you  come  to  lose  your  job?"  per- 
sisted Merkle. 

Tom  dropped  the  paper  to  his  side  with  a  hope- 
less gesture. 

"  Couldn't  hit  it  off  with  the  boss,"  he  replied. 
"  Kennedy  expected  me  to  work  at  the  desk  all  day 
and  then  go  straight  home  to  bed.  That's  always 


ioo  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

the  way  when  you  work  for  a  friend  of  the  family," 
he  concluded  bitterly. 

Merkle  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his  bald  spot. 
It  was  an  extensive,  fore  and  aft  bald  spot,  and  the 
exploration  took  Merkle  some  time.  Then,  for  a 
season  he  thoughtfully  rubbed  his  chin. 

"What's  your  particular  line  of  labor?"  he 
asked,  when  he  looked  up  at  last. 

"  Any  old  thing,  so  long  as  it  pays  a  decent  sal- 
ary," said  Tom. 

Merkle  seemed  disappointed.  "  This  is  an  age 
of  specialty,  kid,"  he  said.  "  There  isn't  much  de- 
mand these  days  for  the  man  who  can  do  anything. 
However,"  he  added,  seeing  Tom's  face  fall, 
"  there's  no  use  getting  discouraged  about  it." 

"  I'm  not  discouraged,"  Tom  hastened  to  assure 
him.  "  It's  inconvenient  sometimes,  not  having  any 
money.  But  I'll  pull  through  all  right." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Merkle.  His  hand  slipped 
into  his  pocket  as  if  by  accident.  "  Old  lady  bother- 
ing you?"  he  asked,  in  a  casual  tone. 

Tom  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  gesture,  with  its 
implication.  He  drew  away. 

"  Oh,  a  little,"  he  said  indifferently,  "  But  I'm 
not  worrying  very  much.  If  I  get  the  job  I've  been 
promised,  I'll  get  something  big." 

Merkle,  a  keen  poker  player,  detected  the  bluff, 
but  liked  the  boy  the  better  for  it.  "  That's  right," 
he  said  again.  "  Keep  plugging  away  and  don't 


THE  PROMISED  LAND  101 

lose  your  nerve."  He  thought  of  his  own  troubles 
and  smiled  grimly.  "  The  trick  is  to  hang  on  to 
your  appetite,"  he  said. 

A  bell  rang  clamorously  on  the  landing  above. 

"  There's  the  dinner  bell,"  said  Tom,  glad  of  the 
interruption.  "  I  must  run  upstairs  and  wash." 
Merkle  half  rose  from  his  chair  and  laid  a  detain- 
ing hand  on  the  youth's  arm. 

"  Say,  son,"  he  inquired,  "  got  any  more  of  that 
liniment?  " 

"Is  your  rheumatism  bad  again?"  asked  Tom. 

"  No,  that  rub  you  gave  me  last  night  fixed 
me  fine.  That's  great  stuff.  Where  did  you  get 
it?" 

"  My  mother  put  it  up,"  said  Tom.  "  Made  me 
take  a  big  bottle  of  it  along.  Never  knew  it  was 
good  for  rheumatism,  though." 

"  It  certainly  fixed  me  up,"  said  Merkle,  his  gruff 
tones  softening  at  the  grateful  recollection.  "  I'd 
like  to  have  it  around  handy,  if  you  can  spare  it,  and 
it  isn't  asking  too  much." 

"  I'll  come  in  to-night  and  give  you  another  rub," 
Tom  offered. 

"  No,"  protested  Merkle.  "  I  can't  be  putting 
you  to  all  that  trouble." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Tom,  "  so  long  as  I  can 
be  of  any  help." 

There  was  a  tapping  of  many  heels  on  the  floors 
above.  The  Bannan  boarders  were  gathering  fast. 


102  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

It  was  a  case  of  first  come,  first  served,  and  early 
service  often  meant  more  than  mere  precedence. 

"  I'll  be  down  in  a  minute,"  said  Tom  to  Merkle. 
He  made  a  bolt  for  the  stairs,  which  he  took  three 
at  a  time. 


CHAPTER  X 

MILK  AND  HONEY 

U   A  MI  the  first?" 

JL\.  The  fair  owner  of  the  swiftest  pair  of 
heels  advanced  two  steps  inside  the  door,  and  swept 
the  room  with  a  challenging  eye.  She  was  Miss 
Dorothy  Dunstan,  a  chirpy  blonde  of  uncertain  age 
and  authenticity,  who,  because  of  a  lack  of  appre- 
ciative managers,  had  not  yet  become  a  famous 
prima  donna. 

Merkle  took  four  long  strides  across  the  room 
and  plumped  himself  down  in  his  chair  near  the  foot 
of  the  long  table. 

"  You're  the  first  —  after  me,"  he  replied,  and 
buried  his  nose  in  his  newspaper,  which  he  first 
propped  against  a  caster  at  a  convenient  angle. 

Miss  Dunstan  drilled  the  back  of  his  head  with 
a  look. 

"  It's  very  strange,"  she  observed  spitefully, 
"  how  you  manage  to  hear  the  bell  before  it  rings." 

"  I  have  inside  information,"  vouchsafed 
Merkle. 

Miss  Dunstan  tossed  her  blonde  head,  partly  to 
show  her  disdain  of  such  vulgarity,  partly  because 
she  had  been  told  that  the  gesture  was  a  becoming 
103 


io4  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

one,  had  thereupon  perfected  it  before  her  mirror, 
and  now  neglected  no  opportunity  to  exhibit  it. 
But  Merkle  had  returned  to  his  survey  of  the  news, 
and  the  toss  would  have  been  wasted,  save  for  the 
timely  entrance  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phelps. 

"  Hello,  Merkle,"  said  Phelps.  Merkle  grunted. 
Phelps  was  a  pasty  man,  heavy  of  body,  face,  and 
speech.  He  was  a  salesman  of  some  sort.  Merkle 
didn't  know  what  sort,  and  didn't  care.  "  Com- 
mercial swine,"  he  styled  men  of  the  Phelps  type. 

Mrs.  Phelps  turned  to  the  rudimentary  prima 
donna,  who  had  seated  herself  near  the  head  of  the 
table  with  a  theatrical  grace  that  Mrs.  Phelps  se- 
cretly envied. 

"Warm,  isn't  it?"  she  observed  pleasantly. 

"  Very,"  returned  Miss  Dunstan.  She  scruti- 
nized the  vertically-striped  casing  of  Mrs.  Phelps's 
stubby  figure.  "Is  that  a  new  dress?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  asked  Mrs.  Phelps  warily. 

"  It's  the  one  you  had  last  Spring,  isn't  it?  But 
you've  done  something  to  it." 

Mrs.  Phelps  turned  red.  She  caught  a  sardonic 
gleam  in  Merkle's  eye,  and  turned  redder.  It  cost 
her  a  violent  effort  to  keep  her  temper  where  it  be- 
longed. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  She  seated  herself  opposite 
Miss  Dunstan  and  hitched  her  chair  closer  to  the 
table.  "I  got  the  idea  from  the  way. you  fixed 


MILK  AND  HONEY  105 

over  yours,"  she  added,  in  sugary  tones.  "  I  neg- 
lected to  thank  you,  my  dear." 

Miss  Dunstan  tossed  her  head  so  high  and  hard 
that  it  came  near  lifting  her  from  her  chair. 
Phelps  broke  into  the  conversation  in  the  interest 
of  harmony. 

"  Can  I  see  a  piece  of  your  paper?"  he  asked 
Merkle,  across  the  table. 

"  I'm  not  through,"  snapped  Merkle,  his  eyes 
glued  to  the  sheet. 

Further  amenities  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Phelps  were 
now  happily  rendered  needless  by  the  entrance  of 
Mrs.  Bannan,  and  her  progress  from  the  door  to 
the  head  of  the  board.  The  term  "  progress  "  is 
used  advisedly,  for  no  other  word  is  adequate  to  ex- 
press the  translation  through  space  of  Mrs.  Angelica 
Bannan. 

Mrs.  Bannan  was  fat,  mountainously  fat,  but  that 
was  not  the  whole  of  it.  Hummocks  and  ridges 
and  rolls  of  fat  had  long  since  effaced  her  original 
outlines  and  brought  her  proportions  to  naught. 
Festoons  of  fat  swung  from  her  jowls  like  wattles 
as  she  moved  across  the  floor.  If  the  naked  truth 
could  be  told,  Mrs.  Bannan  was  probably  the  fat- 
test woman  in  New  York  outside  of  a  museum. 
But  fat  was  not  all  of  Mrs.  Bannan.  There  was 
Brobdingnagian  bone  beneath  her  bigness.  Verily 
she  was  ponderous,  but  her  ponderosity  was  that  of 
the  elephant  rather  than  of  the  porker.  Her  bulk 


106  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

was  'dirigible,  her  weight  effective..  She  walked 
with  an  easy  roll,  but  she  did  not  waddle.  She  was 
a  corn-fed  Amazon,  a  mate  fit  for  Gargantua.  She 
was  vast. 

And,  in  her  boarding  house,  her  word  was  the 
law. 

Mrs.  Bannan  grasped  the  corners  of  the  table 
and  lowered  herself  into  her  chair. 

"  Good  evening,"  she  saluted.  She  regarded  the 
vacant  chairs.  "Where's  the  others?"  she  cried. 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  she  turned  to  an  oily, 
middle-aged  German,  who  had  trailed  her  in  and 
who  now  stood  bowing  and  smirking  to  the  com- 
pany. 

"  Sit  down,  dearie,"  said  the  giantess.  The  oily 
man,  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Herman  Leitz, 
took  the  chair  at  her  left  and  fell  to  rubbing  his 
hands.  The  landlady  raised  her  head. 

"  Lu-cee,"  she  called,  "  bring  the  soup.  We're 
here."  Her  voice  made  the  chandelier  rattle. 
The  kitchen  door  was  behind  her,  as  she  sat,  and, 
once  planted  in  her  chair,  she  found  it  easier  to 
shout  than  to  turn  her  head. 

"  You'd  think  people  would  have  sense  enough 
to  hear  the  bell  the  first  time,"  she  complained,  look- 
ing at  Merkle,  who  paid  no  attention.  "If  some 
people  knew  how  much  trouble  we  had  to  keep  their 
food  warm,  they  wouldn't  do  so  much  kicking." 
Merkle  was  deaf. 


MILK  AND  HONEY  107 

She  turned  to  the  black  girl,  who  was  serving  the 
soup.  "  Lu-cee,"  she  inquired,  "  did  you  ring  the 
bell  on  every  floor?" 

"  Yes'm,"  responded  the  black  meekly. 

"  Well,  ring  it  again,"  she  commanded.  "  And 
don't  let  the  soup  get  cold." 

"Hello,  mother!"  sang  a  cherry  voice  at  the 
door.  "What's  on  the  bill  to-night?  Rush  me 
through  as  quick  as  you  can,  will  you  ?  "  And  the 
speaker,  a  short,  thickset  man  of  thirty,  with  a  breezy 
manner  and  an  engaging  smile,  took  the  chair  be- 
side Merkle.  The  landlady  raised  her  voice  once 
again. 

"  Lu-cee,"  she  cried,  "  bring  Mr.  Weinstein's 
soup." 

"  Oh,  scratch  the  soup,"  said  Weinstein.  "  Kid 
me  along  with  the  big  meat  number  and  all  the  little 
side  surprises."  Lucy  was  apparently  familiar  with 
the  contents  of  the  Weinstein  vocabulary,  for  she 
went  into  the  kitchen  without  a  word.  Weinstein 
turned  to  the  oily  man. 

"Hello,  Leitzy!"  he  said.  "How's  the  lady 
treating  you?" 

"  I  never  complain,"  replied  Leitz,  with  a  com- 
placent leer  at  his  landlady. 

"  You're  the  satisfied  kid,  all  right,"  remarked 
tWeinstein. 

"Why  shouldn't  he  be?"  demanded  Miss  Dun- 
stan  loudly.  She  let  her  glance  wander  from  Leitz 


io8  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

to  Mrs.  Bannan,  where  it  rested  suggestively. 
"  He  gets  the  best  of  everything." 

Mrs.  Bannan  half  rose  from  her  seat,  then,  suc- 
cumbing to  her  emotions  and  the  force  of  gravity, 
sank  back  again  with  a  crash  that  threatened  the  in- 
tegrity of  her  chair. 

"  This  is  a  free  country,  Miss  Dunstan,"  she 
shrilled.  "  If  you're  not  satisfied  with  what  you 
get  here  at  eight  a  week,  you  know  what  you  can 
do." 

Weinstein  thought  it  prudent  to  intervene. 
"  Mother's  right  there  with  the  come-back,"  he  said, 
soothingly.  "  What's  the  news  from  the  front, 
sweetheart?"  he  asked  Miss  Dunstan. 

"  I  very  nearly  got  an  engagement  to-day,"  she 
replied  with  a  flash  of  animation  that  showed  how 
much  even  this  poor  consolation  meant  to  her. 
She  had  been  considered,  at  least. 

"How  did  you  escape?"  asked  Weinstein 
gravely. 

"  I  was  just  talking  salary  with  a  manager  when 
another  girl  came  in.  He  had  met  her  in  Paris." 

Weinstein  nodded  sympathetically.  "  I  know," 
he  said.  "  He  was  under  obligations." 

Mrs.  Bannan's  voice  broke  in  upon  their  colloquy. 

"  What  made  you  so  late  to-night,  Mr.  Wein- 
stein? "she  asked. 

"  My  boy  didn't  get  back  on  time.  Say, 
mother,"  he  continued,  with  an  impatient  glance  at 


MILK  AND  HONEY  109 

his  watch,  "hustle  that  dinge  up,  won't  you?  I'm 
getting  nervous." 

"  You  ain't  the  only  one  at  this  table,  Mr.  Joe 
Weinstein,"  boomed  the  landlady.  "  If  you're  in 
such  a  hurry,  why  don't  you  go  to  a  quick  lunch 
restaurant?  " 

"  I'm  payin'  for  it  here,  ain't  I?"  retorted  Joe. 
"What's  the  use  of  squanderin'  money?  Times  is 
too  hard."  He  rose  from  his  chair  with  extended 
arms  as  Lucy  returned  from  the  kitchen  with  a  full 
tray.  "  Ah,  come  right  here,  fair  one,"  he  en- 
treated, and  helped  her  empty  the  tray. 

Mrs.  Bannan  glared  at  him.  "  Lu-cee,"  she 
called,  "  take  Mr.  Leitz's  plate.  Through,  dar- 
ling? "  she  asked  the  oily  one. 

Leitz  licked  his  lips.  "  Golly,"  he  cooed. 
"  That  soup  was  fine." 

Lucy  began  to  collect  the  soup  plates,  starting 
with  Leitz's.  "  You'd  better  ring  that  bell  again," 
the  landlady  ordered.  "  If  they  don't  hear  it  this 
time,  they'll  have  to  do  without  anything.  I'm  not 
running  no  all-night  cafe." 

Leitz  squinted  around  the  table.  "Who  ain't 
here  yet?"  he  asked. 

"  Mr.  Wilson  and  Miss  LeRoy."  Mrs.  Bannan 
coupled  the  names  with  an  "  and  "  that  staggered 
under  the  weight  of  accent  placed  upon  it. 

"  Oh,  they'll  come  in  together,"  gurgled  Leitz. 
"  They  always  do." 


no  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"I  think  there's  a  case  there,  all  right,"  inter- 
jected Phelps,  with  a  judicial  air.  "  When  that  boy 
first  came  here,  I  knew  at  once  there  would  be  some- 
thing doing." 

Merkle  looked  up  from  his  paper.  He  fixed 
Phelps  with  a  baleful  eye. 

"  Know  anything  for  sure?"  he  snarled. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  blind,"  said  Phelps,  with  an  air  of 
jaunty  indifference,  but  he  shifted  uneasily  in  his 
seat  under  Merkle's  glare.  Merkle  stretched  half 
way  across  the  table  towards  him. 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  say  anything  unless  I 
knew,"  he  thundered. 

"  I  haven't  said  anything,"  whined  Phelps. 
Merkle  returned  to  his  paper.  "  I  think  she's  a 
fine  actress,"  Phelps  went  on  plaintively.  "  I  saw 
her  in  a  show,  and  she  was  mighty  good." 

"  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Phelps.  There  was  men- 
ace in  her  voice.  "  You  didn't  take  me  to  that 
show." 

"I  —  I  couldn't,  my  dear,"  sputtered  the  indis- 
creet Phelps.  "  You  see,  I  had  to  take  some  of  the 
out-of-town  buyers.  I  must  show  our  customers  a 
good  time,  because  the  house  pays  for  it." 

"  Can't  you  take  them  to  dramatic  pieces?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Phelps. 

"  They  can  see  that  sort  of  thing  at  home.  They 
only  come  to  New  York  once  a  year,"  explained 
the  harassed  husband. 


MILK  AND  HONEY  in 

"  I  bet  they  don't  bring  their  wives  with  them," 
nagged  the  woman. 

"Of  course  not,"  blundered  Phelps.  "When 
they  come  here  they  expect  to  enjoy  themselves." 

The  greatest  of  despots  have  never  despised  the 
artful  aid  of  diplomacy.  The  Phelps  combination 
occupied  one  of  Mrs.  Bannan's  most  expensive 
rooms,  and,  when  the  landlady  saw  the  distress  of 
the  paying  partner,  she  thought  it  not  beneath  her 
station  to  move,  by  indirection,  to  his  relief. 

"  I  just  want  to  catch  that  LeRoy  girl  once,"  she 
announced,  in  a  voice  that  silenced  competition. 
She  squelched  Leitz  with  a  look  when  he  attempted 
to  ask:  "At  what,"  and  added,  with  seeming  ir- 
relevancy :  "  She  don't  look  to  me  as  if  she  could 
act." 

"  I'll  get  you  a  couple  of  seats  some  rainy  night," 
volunteered  Joe  Weinstein,  whose  business  was  that 
of  a  ticket  speculator. 

"Where  is  she  playing?"  inquired  the  unsuspi- 
cious landlady,  while  those  who  knew  controlled 
their  risibles  till  Joe  should  give  the  release  signal. 

"  On  the  roof,"  drawled  Weinstein. 

Mrs.  Bannan  joined  unaffectedly  in  the  general 
laugh  at  her  expense.  Miss  Dunstan  contributed 
a  satirical  staccato  to  the  ensemble. 

"  She  hasn't  any  part,  though,"  she  said,  eagerly. 

"  You're  mistaken,  sweetheart,"  said  Joe,  re- 
provingly. "She  has  many  parts.  That's  what 


H2  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

makes  her  so  valuable  to  a  musical  show."  Where- 
upon, as  if  realizing  the  need  of  another  diversion, 
he  began  an  energetic  search  for  the  vinegar. 
"  Wake  up,  Leitzy,"  he  shouted.  "  Pass  the  chlo- 
roform." 

"  I  ain't  got  it,"  protested  Leitz. 

"  It's  under  Mr.  Merkle's  paper,"  said  Mrs.  Ban- 
nan. 

Joe  unceremoniously  grabbed  the  caster  that 
Merkle  was  utilizing  as  a  lectern,  complaining  loudly 
the  while.  "Here,"  he  cried.  "What  do  you 
think  you're  doing?  Concealing  the  evidence  of  a 
crime?" 

Merkle  grinned  at  him  in  friendly  fashion  as  his 
paper  fell  flat,  and  promptly  annexed  a  sugar  bowl 
wherewith  to  prop  it  up  again.  Lucy  shuffled  in 
with  a  tray  of  roast  beef,  which  straightway  en- 
grossed the  general  attention.  Joe,  seeing  the  dan- 
ger point  was  passed,  turned  to  the  newspaper  man 
with  a  comprehensive  wink. 

"  How's  the  show  business,  Joe?  "  asked  Merkle. 

"  Rotten,"  said  Joe,  with  emphasis.  "  Not  a  hit 
in  the  town." 

"What  makes  you  so  busy  then?" 

"The  boss  sent  for  me  to-day,"  Joe  explained. 
"  Wants  me  to  put  some  of  the  boys  in  front  of  his 
house.  Makes  a  flash  to  see  the  *  specs '  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  rubes  think  the  show  is  a  hit,  and 


MILK  AND  HONEY  113 

walk  up  and  buy."  He  shook  his  head  like  a  man 
deeply  mystified.  "  Funny  how  they  fall  for  that 
stuff,"  he  said. 

"  It's  all  make-believe  in  this  town,  Joe,"  said 
Merkle,  wearily. 

"  You're  right  there,  bo,"  replied  his  friend. 
"  Old  P.  T.  B.  had  their  number.  They  certainly 
like  to  be  fooled." 

The  area  bell  jangled  loudly. 

"  Lu-cee,  see  who's  there,"  ordered  Mrs.  Bannan. 
"  Maybe  it's  the  ice  cream." 

There  was  an  interested  hush.  Leitz's  unctuous 
voice  shattered  the  stillness. 

"  I  heard  a  good  joke  to-day,"  he  announced. 

"  Listen,  Merkle,"  Joe  adjured  him.  "  Leitzy's 
going  to  pull  a  funny  one."  Everybody  sat  expect- 
ant. Mrs.  Bannan  looked  angrily  at  Joe. 

"  A  bald  headed  man  came  into  our  barber  shop 
to-day,"  began  the  German,  "  and  he  said:  *  Give 
me  something  for  my  hair.'  And  my  boy  said:  '  It 
ain't  worth  nothing.'  "  And  Leitz  began  to  laugh 
uproariously,  holding  his  fat  sides.  Mrs.  Bannan 
looked  furious.  The  faces  of  the  others  were 
blank.  The  landlady  kicked  Leitz's  shins  under  the 
table.  He  pulled  himself  up  with  a  painful  jerk, 
and  was  ready  to  weep. 

"Get  that,  Merkle?"  asked  Joe,  solicitously. 
"  Bald  headed  man  wants  something  for  what  he 


ii4  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

hasn't  got  —  great,  eh?  Ha-ha."  He  beamed  en- 
couragement on  the  barber.  "  We  got  you, 
Leitzy,"  he  said. 

Phelps,  not  quite  certain  what  it  was  all  about, 
but  willing  to  help,  raised  his  voice. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  that  one  about  the  French 
girl,  who  — " 

Joe  raised  a  warning  hand.  "  Nix  on  that  one, 
Phelps,"  he  interrupted  sternly.  "  Remember, 
there  are  ladies  present." 

Phelps  raised  both  hands  in  disavowal,  and  sat 
with  open  mouth. 

"  You  wait  till  I  get  you  upstairs,"  threatened  his 
spouse. 

Phelps  found  his  voice.  "What  for?"  he  re- 
monstrated. "  I  didn't  say  anything.  I  didn't  — " 

The  rest  of  his  plea  was  lost  in  the  eager  bustle 
occasioned  by  the  reentrance  of  Lucy.  Alas !  The 
package  she  carried  was  of  an  unpromising  flatness! 
The  first  glimpse  showed  that  it  almost  certainly 
could  not  contain  ice  cream.  Lucy's  first  word  ex- 
tinguished any  flickering  hope. 

"  Laundry,"  she  announced.  "  For  Mr.  Wein- 
stein." 

Joe  manfully  sustained  the  ocular  bombardment 
of  the  battery  of  disappointed  Bannanites.  "  How 
much?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Thirty-nine  cents." 

"  Gee !  "   said  Joe,   exploring  his  pockets.     "  It 


MILK  AND  HONEY  115 

costs  a  fortune  to  keep  clean  in  this  town."  He 
handed  the  money  to  the  black.  "  Put  the  package 
up  in  my  room,"  he  directed. 

"  Put  it  on  the  sewing  machine,"  came  the  quick 
countermand  of  the  landlady.  "  Other  people  need 
waiting  on  as  well  as  you." 

"  All  right,  mother,"  said  Joe,  good-humoredly. 
"  Just  to  show  I'm  a  good  fellow,  I'll  take  it  up  my- 
self." 

The  telephone  was  heard  to  ring  on  the  landing 
above. 

"  You  go  and  see  who  it  is,  dearie,"  said  Mrs. 
Bannan.  The  star  boarder  rose  reluctantly  to  obey. 
"Lucy,  take  Mr.  Wilson's  plate  away.  ,We  can't 
wait  for  him  all  night." 

Merkle  knew  that,  if  Tom  missed  his  dinner,  he 
was  likely  to  go  hungry  all  night.  "  He  was  down 
here  a  minute  ago,"  he  said  persuasively.  "  Said 
he  was  going  up  to  wash." 

"  Ain't  it  funny,"  chimed  in  Joe,  "  how  these  guys 
from  the  country  always  wash  before  eating? 
After  they  are  here  a  little  while,  they  find  that  it 
pays  best  to  eat  first  and  wash  afterwards.  Say, 
Lucy,  I'll  take  an  encore  on  that  roast  beef.  Find 
me  a  piece  with  a  little  more  juice  in  it."  Lucy 
took  his  plate  and  stood  watching  Mrs.  Bannan, 
who  forgot  Tom  in  a  fresh  burst  of  irritation  at  Joe. 

"  Do  you  know  how  much  my  butcher  bill  was 
last  month?  "  she  bellowed.  "  A  lot  you  care,  Joe 


n6  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Weinstein,  whether  I  have  enough  to  pay  my  rent 
or  not." 

The  voice  of  Leitz  was  heard  on  the  landing. 

"  Merkle,  a  lady  wants  to  talk  to  you  on  the  tele- 
phone." Merkle,  deep  again  in  the  news,  did  not 
hear.  Weinstein  nudged  him.  Mrs.  Bannan  and 
Miss  Dunstan  echoed  Leitz's  outcries.  The  clamor 
finally  penetrated  to  the  recesses  of  Merkle's  atten- 
tion. He  looked  about,  stupidly,  like  a  man  roused 
from  sound  sleep. 

"What?  "he  inquired. 

"  The  telephone,"  shouted  all  three. 

"  Oh !  "  he  snorted,  and,  starting  to  his  feet,  has- 
tened from  the  room. 

"Ain't  he  the  bear?"  exclaimed  Miss  Dunstan, 
with  a  refined  shudder. 

"  Most  disagreeable  man  I  ever  had  in  my 
house,"  assented  Mrs.  Bannan.  "  If  he  wasn't  the 
only  one  that  paid  his  board  regular,  I'd  ask  him 
for  his  room." 

Miss  Dunstan  rose  majestically.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mrs.  Bannan,"  she  said  with  lofty  cour- 
tesy. "  I  don't  owe  you  anything." 

"  I  said  regular,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Bannan,  with 
sturdy  insistence.  "  There's  been  lots  of  times 
when  I  had  to  carry  you  over." 

"  Gracious!  "  ejaculated  the  other.  "  You  don't 
expect  to  get  paid  in  advance,  do  you?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  insult  me,"  confessed  the  landlady. 


MILK  AND  HONEY  117 

Leitz  re-entered,  bursting  with  information  and 
importance.  "  Say,"  he  tittered,  "  I  got  something 
to  tell  you.  Miss  LeRoy  is  in  the  parlor  with  a 
gentleman  all  dressed  up  like  a  horse." 

"  Wouldn't  you  think  he'd  have  sense  enough  to 
know  it  was  dinner  time?"  wailed  Mrs.  Bannan. 
"  Lu-cee,"  she  called,  "  ring  the  bell  outside  the  par- 
lor door,  and  keep  on  ringing  it  till  Miss  LeRoy 
comes  out." 

"  Who  is  he?  "  inquired  Joe. 

"  Must  be  a  new  one,"  replied  Leitz.  "  I  never 
saw  him  before.  Hush,"  he  added,  as  a  quick 
step  sounded  at  the  door.  "  Here  comes  that  Wil- 
son boy." 


CHAPTER  XI 

AMY  LEROY 

AS  Tom  Wilson  walked  to  his  seat  at  the  foot  of 
the  long  table,  he  was  vaguely  conscious  that 
the  Bannan  boarders  were  honoring  him  with  an 
unusual  amount  of  attention.  Every  eye  seemed  to 
be  focused  upon  him.  Knives  and  forks  were 
dropped  or  suspended  in  midair.  Tom  felt  of  his 
tie  and  looked  his  clothes  over  to  see  if,  in  his  hurry, 
he  had  left  anything  awry.  He  knew  nothing  of 
Leitz's  "  new  one,"  and  had  no  means  of  divining 
that  everybody  in  the  room  was  wondering  what  he 
would  say  if  he  knew. 

Tom  felt  that  the  circumstances  required  some- 
thing of  him.  He  paused  beside  his  chair  and  said 
his  "  Good  evening  "  with  an  elaborate  bow  to  the 
ladies.  He  caught  the  landlady's  pale,  blue  eye, 
with  a  curious  look  in  it. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  be  so  late,  Mrs.  Bannan,"  he  said, 
with  a  propitiatory  smile. 

"Didn't  you  hear  the  bell?"  demanded  the 
giantess. 

"  I  couldn't  find  my  things.  Somebody  else's 
stuff  is  in  my  room." 

118 


rAMY  LEROY  119 

"  You've  been  moved  to  third  floor  back,"  said 
Mrs.  Bannan.  Her  loud  announcement  caused  a 
fresh  access  of  interest  in  Tom. 

"  So  I  found  out,"  replied  the  newly  enlisted  hall- 
roomer. 

"  That  was  a  twelve-dollar  room  you  had,"  vouch- 
safed Mrs.  Bannan,  "  and  I  gave  it  to  a  new  man. 
He  works  in  a  bank." 

"I  can't  expect  to  compete  with  a  banker,  of 
course,"  said  Tom,  with  the  best  smile  at  his  com- 
mand, "  but  I  hope  you'll  let  me  know  when  I'm  in 
the  way  again." 

A  quick  flush  suffused  the  fatty  protuberances  that 
served  Mrs.  Bannan  as  features.  "  I  run  my  house 
to  suit  myself,  Mr.  Wilson,"  she  bellowed.  "  No- 
body ever  gets  the  worst  of  it  with  me."  She  glared 
about  the  room.  "  Lu-cee,"  she  shrieked. 

"You  sent  her  upstairs,  Mrs.  Bannan,'*  Miss 
Dunstan  reminded  her. 

The  landlady's  glare  settled  on  Tom.  "  You'll 
have  to  wait  till  she  comes  down,"  she  snapped. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Tom,  indifferently. 
"Where's  Miss  LeRoy?" 

All  eyes,  with  one  consent,  were  turned  on  Leitz. 
"  She's  in  the  parlor  with  another  gentleman,"  ex- 
plained the  oily  man,  nothing  loath.  A  furious 
tintinnabulation  began  in  the  hall  above.  "  Lucy  is 
calling  her  down  now,"  interpreted  Leitz. 

Merkle    hastily    re-entered.     "  Hello,    kid,"    he 


120  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

said.  "  That  telephone  was  for  you.  Didn't  know 
you  were  down  here,  or  I  would  have  called  you." 

"  I  thought  she  asked  for  Merkle,"  said  Leitz. 

Merkle  turned  on  him  savagely.  "  That's  as  near 
to  Wilson  as  I'd  expect  you  to  get  it,"  he  roared. 

"Somebody  asking  for  me?"  said  Tom.  "I 
wonder  who  it  could  be." 

"  Some  lady  who  wouldn't  give  her  name.  I  told 
her  you  were  in  the  house,  and  she  said  she'd  come 
over." 

There  was  another  volley  of  glances  in  Tom's  di- 
rection. Merkle  walked  over  towards  the  door,  and 
scrutinized  the  panel  of  fruit  with  a  critical  eye.  "  I 
wonder  who  it  could  be?"  repeated  Tom,  to  his 
plate,  oblivious  of  the  stares  of  the  others.  Lucy 
re-entered  with  the  cracked  dinner  bell  in  her  hand. 

"  She's  coming,  Mrs.  Bannan,  in  just  a  minute," 
she  reported. 

"  Bring  Mr.  Wilson's  soup,"  said  the  landlady, 
shortly. 

"  Yas'm,"  said  the  girl.  She  picked  up  Merkle's 
deserted  plate  and  made  for  the  kitchen.  The  news- 
paper man  turned  from  his  study  of  art  just  in  time 
to  see  her  kicking  open  the  swing-door. 

"  Here,"  he  howled.  "  Who  took  my  plate ?  I 
hadn't  finished." 

The  girl  returned  with  a  scared  look  on  her  face. 
She  stood  somewhat  in  awe  of  this  irascible  man, 
than  whom,  besides,  no  one  was  more  liberal  in  the 


~AMY  LEROY  121 

way  of  tips.  "  'Scuse  me,  Mr.  Merkle,"  she  stam- 
mered. "  I  does  get  so  excited  sometimes."  Mer- 
kle nodded  a  ready  pardon.  "  I'll  get  yours  in  a 
minute,  Mr.  Wilson." 

Tom  was  still  communing  with  his  plate.  "  No 
hurry,"  he  said  absently. 

His  preoccupation  was  suddenly  dissipated  when 
a  girl  tripped  into  the  room.  The  newcomer  was  a 
slip  of  a  thing,  not  more  than  eighteen  years  old,  at 
most.  'Amy  LeRoy  was  decidedly  pretty  —  even 
Miss  Dunstan  would  concede  that  —  but  it  was  with 
the  rounded  prettiness  of  a  child  rather  than  the  un- 
folding charm  of  young  womanhood.  She  had 
flaxen  hair,  with  a  glint  of  gold  in  it,  and  big  eyes,  of 
the  blue  of  old  crockery,  which  she  turned  on  all 
mankind  with  the  trustful  stare  of  an  over-innocent 
baby.  Her  expensive  gown,  of  pale  blue,  clashed 
with  the  dingy  background  supplied  by  Mrs.  Ban- 
nan's  dining  room,  but  it  had  been  selected  with  taste 
and  fashioned  in  the  latest  mode.  Considering  the 
probable  size  of  her  salary  and  her  long  periods  of 
idleness,  it  was  a  constant  matter  for  friendly  specu- 
lation on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Bannan's  other  lady 
lodgers,  as  well  as  the  virtuously  vigilant  Mrs.  Ban- 
nan  herself^  how  Miss  LeRoy  managed  to  do  it. 

Despite  her  general  resemblance  to  a  vivacious 
dolly,  Miss  LeRoy  conducted  herself,  under  a  fire 
of  questioning  eyes,  with  a  hard  self-possession  that 
the  militant  landlady  herself  might  have  envied. 


122  THE  COUNTRY^  BOY 

"  Evening,  everybody,"  she  lisped  pleasantly. 
"Hello,  Miss  Dunstan  —  Mrs.  Phelps,"  with  a 
merry  nod  to  each.  "  Can  I  speak  to  you  a  mo- 
ment, Mrs.  Bannan?" 

She  walked  the  length  of  the  room  to  Mrs.  Ban- 
nan's  side,  circled  the  landlady's  prodigious  shoul- 
ders with  her  round,  white  arm,  and,  with  a  profu- 
sion of  pretty  noddings,  whispered  in  her  ear. 

Mrs.  Bannan  reared  herself  to  her  full  sitting 
height,  and  looked  towards  the  door. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

"  Upstairs." 

"  Sure.     Bring  him  down." 

Tom's  eyes  had  followed  the  girl's  every  move. 
"  Hello,  Amy,"  he  said,  as  she  made  by  him  on  her 
way  to  the  door.  She  hesitated,  then  came  to  his 
side. 

"Tom,'*  she  said,  with  her  most  engaging  lisp, 
"  I've  persuaded  Mr.  Michaelson  to  have  dinner 
with  us.  He's  an  awfully  swell  fellow  and  has  an 
interest  in  the  show,  so  I  just  have  to  be  nice  to  him. 
Of  course,"  she  hastened  to  add,  as  she  noted  Tom's 
gathering  frown,  "  it  isn't  going  to  change  our  ar- 
rangement for  to-night." 

"  I  don't  think  I'd  better  take  you  to  the  theater 
to-night,  Amy,"  said  Tom  slowly. 

"  Now  don't  be  mean,  Tom,"  she  coaxed. 

"  What's  the  use,"  said  Tom,  "  so  long  as  you've 
brought  somebody?  " 


rAMY  LEROY  123 

She  sidled  nearer  to  him,  and  put  her  face  close 
to  his.  "  Now  don't  be  foolish,  Tom,"  she  pleaded. 
"  Mr.  Michaelson  has  to  run  away  right  after  din- 
ner, and  I'll  wait  for  you  in  the  parlor.  If  you  get 
through  first,  wait  for  me."  She  shook  a  playful 
finger  under  his  nose.  "  Now  be  a  good  boy,"  she 
admonished  him,  and  was  away  and  out  of  the  door 
without  giving  him  a  chance  to  refuse.  Tom  got  to 
his  feet,  with  more  than  half  a  mind  to  follow  her. 

"  Lu-cee,"  called  Mrs.  Bannan.  "  Set  the  little 
table  over  there  for  Miss  LeRoy.  She's  brought 
an  extra  dinner  with  her." 

Joe  Weinstein  had  been  a  benevolent  observer  of 
the  colloquy  between  Tom  and  the  girl,  with  its  ab- 
rupt ending.  While  Lucy  busied  herself  about  the 
little  table,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  went  up  to  Tom, 
who  was  standing  irresolute  near  the  door,  took  him 
!by  the  arm,  and  led  him  into  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Say,  Wilson,"  he  began. 

Tom  looked  at  him  with  mild  surprise.  "  Yes," 
he  said  inquiringly. 

"  I  just  want  to  put  you  wise,"  said  Joe.  "  Don't 
take  that  dame  too  seriously." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Tom. 

"  The  skirt  that  was  just  in,"  elucidated  Wein- 
stein. "  Don't  let  her  get  you  buffaloed." 

Tom  eyed  him  coldly.  "  I'd  thank  you  to  make 
it  a  bit  clearer,"  he  said. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Joe.     "  I'm  tell- 


i24  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

ing  you  because  you  ain't  been  here  long  enough  to 
know.  Don't  let  her  play  you  for  a  fall  guy.  She 
ain't  the  right  kind." 

Joe  suddenly  found  himself  backing  energetically 
away  from  a  clenched  fist,  which  was  vibrating  un- 
pleasantly near  his  valued  nose.  "  You  take  that 
back,"  Tom  was  hissing  between  his  teeth. 

Merkle  sprang  swiftly  from  his  seat,  and,  while 
Joe  side-stepped  nimbly  behind  the  little  table  as- 
signed to  the  lady  in  question,  he  seized  Tom's  arm 
and  thrust  him  back  into  his  chair  by  main  force. 

"  Don't  lose  your  head,  kid,"  he  counseled,  his 
harsh  voice  harsher  with  earnestness.  "  He  doesn't 
mean  what  you  mean  at  all." 

Joe  returned  roundabout  to  his  seat.  "  Ain't  that 
always  the  way  when  you  try  to  help  a  pal  ?  "  he 
moaned. 

Tom  struggled  to  rise.     "  He  said  — " 

Merkle  cut  him  off  with  vehemence.  "Never 
mind  what  he  said,"  he  insisted.  "  It's  just  a  mis- 
understanding." 

Mrs.  Bannan,  who  had  been  pounding  the  table 
vigorously  with  her  knife,  here  regained  the  speech 
of  which  Tom's  audacity  and  Merkle's  violence  had 
bereft  her.  "  Gentlemen,"  she  boomed.  "  No 
rough  house,  please.  This  is  a  respectable  estab- 
lishment." 

Tom  composed  himself.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mrs.  Bannan,"  he  said. 


AMY  LEROY  125 

Miss  Dunstan  swished  from  her  seat  with  an  air 
of  outraged  gentility.  "  Isn't  this  place  getting 
awful?  "  she  wailed,  and  started  for  the  door. 

"Ain't  you  going  to  have  dessert?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bannan. 

Miss  Dunstan  deigned  to  consider.  "  Is  it  ice 
cream?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  ice  cream  hasn't  come,  so  I'm  going  to  give 
you  blanc  mange,"  said  the  landlady. 

"Oh,  horrors!  And  me  on  a  diet!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Dunstan.  But  she  resumed  her  seat. 

"  I  thought  this  was  ice  cream  night,"  complained 
Phelps. 

"  I  just  told  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Bannan,  enunciat- 
ing each  syllable  with  painful  distinctness,  "  that  my 
confectionery  man  disappointed  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Phelps,  "  where's  my  beer  then?  " 

"  It's  all  out,"  was  the  reply. 

"I  ordered  a  case  only  last  week,"  protested 
Phelps. 

"  You've  drunk  it  all  up,"  said  Mrs.  Bannan,  with 
calm  finality.  "  There's  no  more  left." 

Phelps  jumped  from  his  chair  and  hurled  his  nap- 
kin on  the  table.  "  This  is  a  hell  of  a  place,"  he 
said. 

"  Ain't  you  going  to  wait  for  your  coffee?  "  asked 
his  wife. 

"No,  I've  had  all  I  want,"  he  shouted,  and 
stalked  from  the  room. 


126  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Mrs.  Phelps  raised  her  hands  with  a  groan  that 
implored  the  general  sympathy.  "  Ain't  it  awful  to 
have  to  live  with  a  man  like  that?  "  she  cried,  and 
started  after  him. 

"  You  picked  him,"  Miss  Dunstan  reminded  her. 

Mrs.  Phelps  turned  at  the  door.  "  At  least  I  did 
pick  something,"  she  snapped.  And  leaving  this 
Parthian  arrow  quivering  in  the  maiden  bosom  of 
her  friend,  she  flounced  away. 

Joe  Weinstein  grinned  appreciatively.  "  I'll 
have  some  coffee,"  he  announced. 

Mrs.  Bannan  regarded  him  with  disfavor. 
"  Lucy  can  do  only  one  thing  at  a  time,"  she  said. 
"  She  ain't  no  centipede." 

What  "  come-back  "  Joe  might  have  evolved  to 
this  "  call-down  "  will  never  be  known,  for,  as  he 
opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  there  was  a  rustle  of  silk 
skirts  at  the  door,  and  conversation  and  all  other 
table  activities  were  suspended,  the  better  to  observe 
the  debut  of  Amy  LeRoy's  "  new  one." 


CHAPTER  XII 

JIMMY   MICHAELSON   SCORES 

THERE  was  a  not  too  obvious  air  of  defiance 
in  the  girl's  manner  as  she  led  the  way  into 
the  room,  turned  her  back  on  the  watchful  company, 
and  pointed  to  a  chair  at  the  small  table  by  the 
window. 

"  You  sit  there,  Jimmy,"  she  said. 

The  "  new  one  "  moved  towards  the  seat  indi- 
cated, from  which  he  could  look  down  the  whole 
length  of  the  omnibus  table,  from  Tom's  back,  at 
the  near  end,  to  the  giantess  facing  him  in  the  dis- 
tance. Jimmy  Michaelson  was  a  dark,  rather  hand- 
some young  man,  with  hard  lines  about  his  mouth. 
He  was  well-set-up  and  well-groomed,  but  seemed 
somewhat  ill  at  ease,  perhaps  from  a  feeling  that 
his  immaculate  evening  dress  was  a  trifle  out  of 
place  in  his  present  surroundings. 

As  Michaelson  stood  waiting  till  she  should  have 
seated  herself,  a  sudden  thought  came  to  Amy. 
"Just  a  moment,"  she  said.  "Oh,  Tom,"  she 
called  sweetly,  "  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Michael- 
son." 

Tom  rose  slowly  and  walked  over  towards  the 
little  table. 

127 


128  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  This  is  Mr.  Wilson,  Jimmy,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Glad  to  know  you,"  said  Michaelson,  extending 
his  hand  with  a  smile. 

Tom  grasped  it  languidly.  "Same  here,"  he 
said,  and  returned  to  his  seat  at  the  foot  of  the 
long  table. 

"  Sit  right  down,"  said  Amy  to  Michaelson.  She 
took  the  seat  opposite  him,  the  effect  of  this  ma- 
noeuvring being  to  present  her  back  to  the  spectators 
and  reserve  the  sweet  intimacy  of  her  smiles  wholly 
for  Jimmy  Michaelson.  She  leaned  confidentially 
across  the  little  table.  "  They're  all  rubbering  their 
heads  off,"  she  said.  "  But  don't  give  them  any  sat- 
isfaction." 

"  Who  is  the  young  chap  you  introduced  me  to?  " 
asked  Michaelson. 

"  Tom  Wilson,"  she  replied.  Her  sophisticated 
brows  rose  slightly.  "  Oh,  he's  just  come  from  the 
country.  Hasn't  been  here  very  long." 

"  Seems  to  know  you  pretty  well,"  persisted  Mi- 
chaelson. 

Amy,  in  her  desire  to  conciliate  Tom,  had  neg- 
lected to  estimate  the  probable  effect  of  her  action 
on  Jimmy. 

"  He's  an  awfully  nice  boy,"  she  said  impulsively. 
"  So  different  from  the  men  you  meet  here.  He's 
the  only  one  that  treats  me  with  any  respect."  She 
saw  the  man  eying  her  curiously  and  changed  her 
key.  "  I  let  him  take  me  out  once  in  a  while,"  she 


JIMMY  MICHAELSON  SCORES       129 

said,  with  an  indifferent  pout.  "  A  girl  can't  walk 
down  Broadway  alone  these  nights.  Every  man 
talks  to  her." 

She  sighed  pathetically  and  turned  to  Lucy,  who 
was  placing  their  soup  before  them.  "  Let's  pass 
the  soup,"  she  suggested.  "  We  ain't  got  any  too 
much  time.  Just  bring  the  principal  things,  Lucy, 
'cause  we're  in  a  hurry." 

Joe  Weinstein  had  been  taking  notes.  He  leaned 
down  the  table  towards  Mrs.  Bannan.  "  Who's  the 
soup  and  fish?"  he  asked,  a  question  which  Mrs. 
Bannan's  knowledge  of  Tenderloin  slang  enabled 
her  to  interpret  as  an  inquiry  concerning  the  identity 
of  the  gentleman  in  evening  garb. 

"  Go  on,  ask  her,"  urged  Miss  Dunstan,  who  was 
thanking  her  lucky  stars  she  had  remained.  "  You 
have  a  perfect  right  to  know  who  she's  bringing 
here." 

It  is  easy  to  drive  even  a  giantess  along  the  line  of 
her  own  inclination.  Mrs.  Bannan,  summoned  to 
the  defense  of  her  hearthstone,  rose  majestically, 
drew  herself  to  her  full  height,  shook  herself  into 
her  corsets,  threw  back  her  shoulders,  and  advanced 
upon  the  foe  like  an  army  with  banners.  She  took 
up  a  position  within  easy  range  of  the  little  table  and 
coughed  to  draw  the  enemy's  fire. 

The  pair,  deeply  engrossed  in  each  other,  made  no 
sign.  Mrs.  Bannan  coughed  again,  with  explosive 
force,  then,  advancing  a  step  further,  placed  one 


130  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

puissant  fist  upon  the  table,  swung  her  bulk  forward, 
and  sounded  the  onset: 

"  Getting  waited  on  all  right?" 

Amy  looked  up  at  the  landlady's  looming  bulk, 
glanced  anxiously  at  Michaelson,  who  wore  a  frown 
of  annoyance,  then  forced  a  smile.  "  Yes,  thanks," 
she  said.  There  was  an  ominous  silence,  which 
Mrs.  Bannan  made  no  move  to  break.  "  I  want 
you  to  meet  my  friend,  Mr.  Michaelson,"  said  the 
girl.  "  Mr.  Michaelson,  this  is  our  landlady,  Mrs. 
Bannan." 

Michaelson  rose,  and  bowed  profoundly. 
'  'Tain't  much  of  a  dinner  to-night,  Mr.  Michael- 
son,"  said  the  landlady,  impressed  by  his  easy  cour- 
tesy. "  Our  ice  cream  man  disappointed  me,  but  if 
I'd  known  you  were  coming,  I'd  have  fixed  up 
something  special  for  you." 

"  I'm  enjoying  my  dinner  very  much,"  said  Mi- 
chaelson, with  a  smile  and  a  glance  in  the  direction 
of  Miss  LeRoy. 

The  matter-of-fact  landlady  glanced  at  his  plate. 
"  Why,  you  ain't  had  nothing  yet,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  No,"  he  had  to  admit.  He  smiled  and  recov- 
ered. "  But  Miss  LeRoy  has  recommended  your 
table  so  highly  that  I'm  sure  to  be  pleased." 

Mrs.  Bannan  cracked  an  ogreish  smile.  "  Well, 
if  I  do  say  it  myself,  I  give  my  boarders  the  very 
best  there  is."  Mr.  Michaelson  smiled  blandly. 
"  For  the  price,"  she  qualified. 


JIMMY  MICHAELSON  SCORES       131 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Michaelson,"  Amy  broke  in  pet- 
ulantly. "  No  use  wasting  your  manners  in  a  board- 
ing house." 

"  Yes,  don't  let  me  keep  you  from  your  eating," 
said  the  landlady,  as  the  black  girl  brought  on  the 
roast  beef.  "  Do  you  like  your  meat  rare,  Mr. 
Michaelson?  Them  is  awful  small  portions, 
Lucy."  She  turned  again  to  Michaelson  with  a  smile 
as  nearly  gracious  as  her  peculiar  limitations  al- 
lowed. "  But,  if  you  want  another  helping,  you  can 
have  it,"  she  said.  "  I  never  deny  my  people  any- 
thing." She  sighed  deeply.  "  Meat  is  terribly 
high  now,  too.  My  butcher  bill  is  something 
awful."  Michaelson  nodded  so  sympathetically 
that  the  ogre  beamed.  "  Maybe  you'd  like  some- 
thing to  drink  with  your  dinner." 

"  What  have  you  got?  "  asked  Amy. 

The  landlady  glanced  stealthily  down  the  room. 
"  I  can  let  you  have  some  beer,"  she  said.  "  It  be- 
longs to  Mr.  Phelps,"  she  added  in  a  lower  voice. 
"  We  keep  it  on  the  ice  for  him,  but  he  won't  care." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Bannan,"  said 
Michaelson.  "  I'm  quite  happy  with  what  I  have." 

"  Well,"  said  the  landlady,  "  if  you  want  any- 
thing, don't  be  afraid  to  shout  for  it." 

And  she  returned  unto  her  own  place,  where  she 
retailed  at  length  to  Leitz  and  to  Miss  Dunstan  her 
impressions  of  Mr.  Michaelson,  summing  them  all 
up  in  this  final  judgment: 


132  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  And  he's  a  perfect  gentleman." 

Which  goes  to  show  how  easily  a  giantess  may  be 
led,  or  misled,  on  the  frail  string  of  courtesy. 
Leitz,  who  had  not  passed  within  the  field  of 
Michaelson's  magnetic  manner,  remained  uncon- 
vinced. 

"  I  bet  he  shaves  himself,"  said  the  barber. 

It  was  the  bitterness  of  envy,  perhaps,  that  sharp- 
ened Miss  Dunstan's  tones  as  she  passed  Michael- 
son  by  for  the  girl.  "  She  ought  to  have  better 
sense  than  to  bring  him  right  here  in  front  of  our 
noses,"  she  sneered.  "  A  girl  can't  be  too  careful 
if  she  wants  to  keep  her  reputation." 

If  Mrs.  Bannan  could  have  followed  the  conver- 
sation at  the  little  table,  she  might  have  repented 
of  her  judgment. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  living  in  a  boarding 
house,"  Amy  was  saying  apologetically,  as  the 
landlady  moved  away.  ".You  have  to  be  nice  to 
everybody." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  stand  it,"  assented 
Michaelson,  who  was  beginning  to  plan  a  quick  get- 
away. 

"Ain't  it  awful?"  said  the  girl.  There  was  a 
wistful  look  in  the  big,  baby  eyes  that  gazed  so 
helplessly  into  his.  "  But  what's  a  girl  to  do  on 
a  small  salary?" 

Michaelson  leaned  towards  Her.  "  You  might 
let  your  friends  help  you,"  he  said  softly. 


JIMMY  MICHAELSON  SCORES       133 

There  was  a  dead  pause.  The  girl's  eyes  sought 
her  plate. 

"  I  can't  afford  to  get  myself  talked  about,"  she 
objected  feebly. 

"  Nobody  would  know,"  he  whispered. 

There  was  a  swift  interchange  of  glances  across 
the  remnants  of  the  roast  beef.  For  the  space  of  a 
second  their  eyes  held  each  other's.  In  that  mo- 
ment a  bargain  was  struck.  Joe  Weinstein  could 
have  drawn  up  the  contract  without  consulting  either 
party  to  the  transaction. 

The  man's  eyes  glowed.  The  girl  struck  at  him 
playfully.  "  Now,  Jimmy,  stop,"  she  purred. 
"  I'm  not  that  kind  of  a  girl,"  which  served  to  con- 
firm Jimmy's  knowledge  of  just  what  kind  of  a  girl 
she  was,  and  caused  him  to  smile  contentedly. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  room  as  a  shrill  whistle 
sounded  in  the  area.  Miss  Dunstan  jumped  to  her 
feet. 

"  Oh,  there's  the  postman,"  she  cried.  "  And 
I've  been  expecting  a  letter." 

She  hastened  towards  the  window,  but  Amy,  who 
had  the  advantage  of  position,  was  there  before  her. 
The  girl  ran  up  the  blind,  threw  open  the  window, 
and  took  the  handful  of  letters  which  the  postman 
thrust  through  the  grating.  She  closed  the  window 
slowly,  pulled  down  the  blind,  and,  reading  as  she 
walked,  returned  to  her  chair,  where  she  continued 
to  go  through  the  letters  with  a  deliberation  that 


i34  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

seemed  to  be  in  the  highest  degree  exasperating  to 
Miss  Dunstan,  who  was  jumping  from  one  foot  to 
the  other  in  her  impatience.  The  girl  finally  found 
an  envelope  addressed  to  herself,  and  calmly  laid 
the  others  down  on  the  table  beside  her. 

"  I  know  who  that's  from,"  she  said  to  Michael- 
son.  "  Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  read  it  at  the 
table?" 

"  Go  ahead,"  nodded  Michaelson. 

Miss  Dunstan  waved  her  arms  angrily  toward 
the  unconscious  reader.  "  Can  you  beat  that  for 
nerve?"  she  cried.  With  clenched  hands  she 
rushed  to  the  little  table  and,  with  a  sarcastic  "  Ex- 
cuse me  "  to  the  startled  Michaelson,  scooped  up 
the  letters  and  beat  a  retreat. 

"Any  for  me?  "  asked  Weinsteiri. 

"  For  Mrs.  Bannan,  most  of  them,"  she  replied, 
as  she  undertook  the  task  of  distribution.  The 
landlady  threw  up  her  hands  in  stony  despair. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I'm  ever  going  to  pay  Jem," 
she  wailed. 

"  Mr.  Wilson,"  continued  Miss  Dunstan,  making 
the  round  of  the  table.  Tom  thrust  his  letter  into 
his  pocket  without  looking  at  it.  "  Mr.  Merkle. 
And  here's  one  for  me.  The  rest  are  all  for  Mrs. 
Bannan." 

The  landlady  handed  her  letters  over  to  Leitz. 
"  Put  them  on  my  desk,  dearie,"  she  said  wearily. 
"  I  can't  read  without  my  glasses." 


JIMMY  MICHAELSON  SCORES       135 

A  shriek  from  Miss  Dunstan.  "  Do  you  Know 
where  mine  is  from?  K.  &  E.  They're  going  to 
try  my  voice  to-morrow,  and  I  haven't  practiced  all 
day."  She  broke  off  into  a  shrill  arpeggio. 
"  Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah  "  she  screamed  up  the  register, 
dancing  sidewise,  and  "  Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah  "  she 
screamed  down  again,  dancing  back.  At  the  top 
note,  Merkle  clapped  his  hands  to  his  ears.  "  Is 
anybody  in  the  parlor?  " 

"  If  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  Miss  Dunstan,"  said 
Merkle,  in  his  most  reasonable  tones,  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  pound  the  piano  to-night.  I  have  the  back 
parlor,  you  know,  and  I  have  a  lot  of  work  to  do." 

She  faced  him,  quivering  with  excitement.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Merkle,"  she  said.  "  It 
isn't  my  fault  if  you  have  the  back  parlor.  The 
front  parlor  is  intended  for  the  guests,  and  I  have 
a  perfect  right  to  use  the  piano  if  I  want  to.  My 
music  means  a  good  deal  to  me,  and  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  object  to  it."  And  she  stamped  away. 

"I  don't  object" — she  wheeled  swiftly — "to 
music,"  he  growled. 

Her  lip  trembled.  "You're  the  rudest  man  I 
ever  saw,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Glad  you  have  me  classified,"  said  Merkle. 

She  turned  to  Joe  for  comfort.  "  Do  you  object 
to  my  music,  Mr.  Weinstein?" 

"  No.  Holler  your  head!  off,  sweetheart,"  re- 
plied Joe  cheerfully. 


136  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  And  Mr.  Weinstein  ought  to  know,"  she  cried. 
"  He's  in  the  business."  And  tucking  this  conso- 
lation under  her  arm,  she  ran  quickly  up  the  stairs. 
Joe  turned  to  Merkle  with  a  grin. 

"  Better  get  your  room  changed,  Merkle,"  he 
counseled. 

"  It's  bad  enough  to  have  that  beer  garden  across 
the  street  without  having  her  pound  the  ivories  all 
night,"  grumbled  his  friend. 

Joe  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  laugh.  "  Well,"  said 
he,  "  me  for  the  white  lights.  Don't  take  any 
wooden  coin,  folks,  and  remember,  it's  just  as  pleas- 
ant in  the  Summer  as  it  is  in  the  city."  With  which 
cryptic  advice,  he  betook  himself  to  the  street  by  way 
of  the  area. 

Tom  Wilson  sat  dejectedly  in  his  seat,  his  dinner 
almost  untasted.  He  turned  with  a  blank  stare 
when  Lucy  entered  from  the  hall  and  spoke  to 
him. 

"  Bar's  a  lady  in  de  parlor  to  see  you,  Mr.  Wil- 
son," she  repeated. 

Tom  rose  quickly.  "  To  see  me,"  he  exclaimed, 
and  hastened  from  the  room. 

Amy's  quick  ears  had  caught  the  black  girl's  mes- 
sage. She  formulated  her  plan  of  action  instantly. 

"What  time  is  it,  Jimmy?"  she  inquired. 

"  A  quarter  after  seven,"  he  replied,  looking  at 
his  watch. 


JIMMY  MICHAELSON  SCORES       137 

She  jumped  to  her  feet.  "  Gracious,"  she  cried. 
"  I'll  be  late  for  the  half-hour,  and  our  stage  mana- 
ger is  awfully  strict.  Let's  go." 

"  I'll  take  you  to  the  show  shop,"  he  offered. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his.  "  No,"  she  pleaded, 
**  they  might  talk  about  us.  Let  them  see  you  leave 
the  house  alone,  and  you  can  come  and  get  me  after 
the  show." 

"  Sure  now,"  said  Michaelson,  as  they  walked  to- 
wards the  door. 

"  I'll  wait  for  you,"  she  assured  him.  "  Only, 
don't  be  long." 

Michaelson  lingered  at  the  door.  "  Good 
night,  Mrs.  Bannan,"  he  called  pleasantly. 

"  Good  night,"  she  cried,  as  he  climbed  the  stairs 
after  Amy.  "  Come  again,  Mr.  Michaelson.  I'll 
have  a  better  meal  for  you  next  time." 

Leitz,  at  the  landlady's  reminder,  gathered  her 
letters  together,  and,  hugging  them  to  his  side, 
started  for  the  door.  Merkle  rose,  and,  taking  a 
small  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket,  walked  up  to 
Mrs.  Bannan.  "Here's  something  for  you,"  he 
said. 

'  'Tain't  due  till  to-morrow,"  she  observed,  hav- 
ing first,  however,  closed  her  massive  fingers  about 
the  money. 

"  I  might  not  have  it  to-morrow,"  he  replied  with 
a  crusty  smile. 


138  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

A  rhythmic  jangling  sounded  above  their  heads. 
A  shrill  soprano  added  itself  presently  to  the  dis- 
cord. Miss  Dunstan  had  gone  into  training  for  to- 
morrow's try-out. 

"  My  goodness,  Mr.  Merkle,"  the  landlady  was 
saying,  "  if  all  my  people  were  as  prompt  pay  as 
you,  I'd  be  a  happy  woman." 

Merkle's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Want  to  do  something 
for  me?  "  he  said. 

"Change  your  room?"  she  asked,  with  a  look 
aloft 

"No.  Put  a  sign  on  the  piano:  'Out  of 
order.'  " 

"  I'll  make  her  stop  as  soon  as  I  go  up,"  she 
promised. 

Merkle  climbed  the  stairs.  The  landlady  was 
left  alone.  She  yawned  cavernously  and  began  to 
turn  out  the  lights.  "  Lu-cee,"  she  called. 

The  black  girl  came  in  from  the  kitchen  and 
stood  at  attention.  "  Yas'm,"  she  said. 

"  Clear  everything  away.  Save  the  rest  of  that 
roast  beef  for  lunch  to-morrow." 

"  Yas'm." 

"  And,  Lu-cee.  Don't  forget  to  put  the  lock  on 
the  icebox,  so  the  beer  will  be  safe." 

She  yawned  again,  more  widely  and  deeply  than 
before,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Mrs.  Bannan,"  said  the  black.     The  landlady 


JIMMY  MICHAELSON  SCORES       139 

turned  on  the  threshold.  "  What  shall  I  do  if  the 
ice  cream  comes?  " 

Mrs.  Bannan  strangled  a  third  yawn  in  its  lusty 
infancy.  A  glad  and  crafty  smile  extended  itself 
across  her  visage. 

"  I  didn't  order  no  ice  cream,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS 

THE  "  lady  in  the  parlor  "  rose  from  the  dark 
corner  where  she  had  been  seated  and  came 
forward  into  the  center  of  the  room. 

"  Jane !  "  exclaimed  Tom  joyously.  He  rushed 
forward  and  seized  both  her  hands  and  shook  them 
as  though  he  meant  never  to  stop.  It  was  good  to 
see  Jane,  to  feel  her  firm  clasp,  to  look  into  her  calm, 
brown  eyes  again,  to  see  her  untroubled  smile.  It 
made  Tom  forget  the  anxieties  that  beset  him.  In 
her  simple  frock  of  some  soft,  white  fabric,  she 
looked  deliciously  cool  and  dainty.  His  wilted  soul 
and  body  revived  in  her  presence.  She  was  like  a 
refreshing  breeze  at  the  fag-end  of  a  hot  day.  For 
the  moment  he  was  back  in  Fairview,  and  he  plied 
her  with  questions,  about  herself,  about  his  mother, 
about  everybody  in  the  village,  not  forgetting  his 
old  friend,  Judge  Belknap.  Jane  stood  smiling 
and  waiting  for  the  torrent  of  interrogatories  to  run 
dry. 

Just  how  long  Tom  stood  holding  her  hands 
there  in  the  dim  parlor,  there  is  no  means  of  de- 
termining. Certainly  Jane  made  no  effort  to  loose 
them,  until  a  sharp  swish  of  silk  at  the  door  and  an 
140 


UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS         141 

apologetic  "Oh!"  caused  her  to  withdraw  them 
quickly  and  step  back.  The  young  woman,  who  had 
made  as  if  to  enter  the  parlor,  drew  back  so  swiftly 
that  Jane  caught  only  the  flash  of  a  blue  skirt  as  its 
owner  vanished  down  the  hall.  But  Tom  had  rec- 
ognized the  voice,  and  he  experienced  a  momentary 
feeling  of  discomfort. 

It  was  not  that  Tom  had  anything  to  reproach 
himself  with.  So  far  as  Tom  was  concerned,  his 
companionship  with  Amy  LeRoy  possessed  no  ele- 
ment of  significance  of  which  Jane  might  not  be 
fully  informed.  He  had  naturally  gravitated  to- 
wards Amy  among  all  his  fellow  boarders,  because 
she  had  appealed  to  his  sympathies,  she  seemed  so 
helpless  and  childishly  out  of  place  in  the  Bannan 
boarding  house;  because  she  had  made  it  prettily 
apparent  that  she  liked  his  company;  because  he  had 
thought  he  detected  a  certain  hard  unfriendliness 
towards  her  on  the  part  of  the  other  women  in  the 
house,  and  his  ready  spirit  of  chivalry  had  been 
roused  in  her  behalf;  and  —  underlying  reason  of 
all,  perhaps  —  because  they  both  were  young,  Tom, 
in  everything  except  years,  much  the  younger  of  the 
two. 

Tom's  momentary  embarrassment  proceeded  out 
of  no  feeling  of  liability  —  he  had  never  for  an  in- 
stant lapsed  from  his  loyalty  to  Jane  —  but  he  had 
an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  somehow  Jane,  with 
her  country  ways  of  thinking  and  her  unavoidably 


i42  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

narrow  horizon,  would  not  look  with  favor  on  a 
music  hall  "  broiler  "  like  Amy.  He  rather  hoped 
it  would  not  be  necessary  for  them  to  meet. 

As  for  Amy,  her  curiosity  about  "  the  lady  in  the 
parlor  "  would  have  been  more  difficult  to  explain 
in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  that  village-bred  damsel. 
Amy  had  not  the  slightest  thought  of  relinquishing 
her  newly  acquired  interest  in  Jimmy  Michaelson. 
Privately  she  would  have  laughed  at  such  an  idea  as 
ridiculous.  Jimmy  had  cost  her  too  much  trouble 
to  get.  But  she  liked  Tom  immensely,  he  was  so 
strong  and  handsome,  and,  just  at  present,  she 
didn't  want  him  to  like  anybody  else  too  much. 
Tom,  in  his  unsophisticated  frankness,  had  told  her 
of  Jane,  but  the  "  broiler  "  did  not  much  fear  the 
rivalry  of  a  country  girl,  especially  when  that  girl 
was  several  hundred  miles  away.  Tom  appealed 
to  a  side  of  her  nature  that  latterly  she  had  found 
very  little  use  for.  Even  in  musical  comedy,  a  girl 
may  retain  a  desire  to  possess  a  male  acquaintance 
who  treats  her  "  with  respect." 

There  were  other  interruptions,  accidental  or 
otherwise,  culminating  with  the  incursion  of  Miss 
Dunstan,  armed  with  a  roll  of  music  and  still  breath- 
ing threatenings  and  slaughter,  who  plumped  her- 
self down  at  the  decrepit  piano  and  proceeded  to 
shatter  the  patient  atmosphere.  Ordinarily  Miss 
Dunstan  would  have  been  more  lenient,  for  she  liked 
Tom  and  would  gladly  have  seen  him  rescued  from 


UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS         143 

the  clutches  of  that  LeRoy  girl,  but  to-night  she  was 
so  full  of  wrath  and  purpose  that  it  is  doubtful  if 
she  noticed  the  figures  in  the  far  corner. 

Tom  and  Jane  sat  without  quailing  while  Miss 
Dunstan  screamed  her  way  through  the  ditty  with 
which  she  purposed  to  charm  the  syndicated  ears  of 
K.  &  E.  on  the  morrow.  When  she  drew  a  long 
breath  and  began  the  song  afresh,  with  the  evident 
purpose  of  screaming  it  all  over  again,  Jane  moved 
uneasily,  as  if  she  were  beginning  to  think  it  time 
to  be  going,  and  Tom  hastily  proposed  an  adjourn- 
ment to  the  deserted  dining  room  below. 

"  Come  on,  Jane,"  he  entreated.  "  You  might 
as  well  stay  a  little  longer,  now  that  you're  here," 
and  led  the  way  below,  where  they  found  Lucy  re- 
moving the  last  of  the  dinner  fragments,  still  shak- 
ing her  head  in  admiration  at  her  mistress's  ice 
cream  coup. 

Tom  led  Jane  to  the  little  table  by  the  window 
and  pointed  to  the  chair  lately  occupied  so  success- 
fully by  Mr.  Jimmy  Michaelson.  He  took  Amy's 
chair  for  himself,  but  in  an  informal  manner,  which 
Amy  could  never  have  negotiated  except  in  her  mus- 
ical comedy  costume  —  the  manner  of  children  who 
"  play  horse."  Having  thus  seated  himself  in  re- 
verse, he  crossed  his  arms  on  the  back  of  his  chair, 
laid  his  chin  on  his  arms,  and  gazed  long  and  de- 
lightedly at  Jane. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  certainly  am  surprised  to  see 


144  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

you.  So  you're  the  lady  who  wanted  me  on  the 
telephone  ?  I  couldn't  imagine  who  it  was.  When 
did  you  come  to  town?  " 

Jane  hesitated  an  instant.  "  A  few  days  ago," 
she  said. 

Tom  straightened  up.  "  Why  didn't  you  let  me 
know?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  couldn't,"  the  girl  explained.  "  Cousin  Em- 
ily had  me  on  the  go  every  minute."  There  was  a 
wrinkle  of  perplexity  between  Tom's  eyes.  "  You 
know  how  it  is  when  one  spends  a  few  days  with  rel- 
atives," she  went  on. 

"  A  few  days,"  Tom  repeated  slowly.  "  When 
are  you  going  back?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning,"  answered  Jane.  "  Dad 
had  some  business  in  town  and  I  persuaded  him  to 
let  me  come  along.  He  finished  up  quicker  than  I 
expected,  though." 

Tom  considered.  There  was  more  to  this  than 
appeared  on  the  surface.  He  had  a  canny  notion 
that  Judge  Belknap  was  concealed  somewhere  near 
the  bottom.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  walked  up 
and  down  in  front  of  Jane. 

"That's  too  bad,"  he  said.  "I  won't  have  a 
chance  to  show  you  'round."  He  stopped  and 
looked  at  her  with  sudden  anxiety.  "  And  mother  ? 
Did  you  see  her  before  you  left?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane.  "  I  promised  her  that  I 
wouldn't  leave  town  without  seeing  you." 


UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS         145 

Perhaps  Jane  wouldn't  have  come  at  all,  other- 
wise, Tom  couldn't  help  thinking.  "And  how  is 
she  looking?  "  he  pursued.  "  All  right?  " 

"  Very  well,  indeed,  I  thought." 

"  Guess  mother  thinks  I'm  in  trouble  every  min- 
ute down  here,"  said  Tom,  with  a  short  laugh. 
"Doesn't  she?" 

Jane's  eyes  looked  away  from  him  to  follow  Lucy, 
who,  her  task  finished,  was  shuffling  out  into  the 
kitchen  with  her  heavy  tray.  As  the  door  swung 
to  behind  the  black  girl,  Jane  asked: 

"  Aren't  you  in  any  trouble?  " 

Tom  straddled  his  chair  again,  brought  his  face 
down  to  a  level  with  Jane's,  and  invited  inspection. 

"  Do  I  look  as  if  I  were?  "  he  asked  with  a  con- 
fident smile. 

Jane  looked,  but  did  not  respond  to  smile  or  ques- 
tion. "  We  heard  that  you  had  lost  your  position," 
she  said. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Tom  straightening  himself  up  again 
more  quickly  than  before.  "  Where  did  you  hear 
that?" 

"  Mr.  Kennedy  wrote  Dad  about  it.  They're 
old  friends,  you  know." 

"Oh!"  said  Tom,  thoughtfully.  "And  I  sup- 
pose your  Dad  lost  no  time  telling  my  mother,"  he 
said,  with  the  suspicion  of  a  sneer. 

Jane's  tone  rebuked  him.  "  He  felt  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  tell  her,"  she  replied. 


i46  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Tom  spurned  his  chair  from  him.  "  I  wish 
he  wouldn't  always  do  these  things,"  he  said 
hotly.  "  He  hadn't  any  right  to  trouble  my  mother 
about  this." 

"Why?"  persisted  Jane.     "Isn't  it  true?" 

"  Suppose  it  is.  Can't  a  fellow  lose  a  job  with- 
out having  it  advertised  as  a  tragedy?  "  He  faced 
her  defiantly.  "  I'm  not  worried  about  it,"  he  de- 
clared. "  Why  should  they  be  ?  " 

Jane's  face  grew  graver.  "  It  isn't  the  loss  of 
the  position,"  she  said,  "  but  the  reason  for  losing 
it  that  worries  them." 

"  Did  Kennedy  give  any  particular  reason  for 
letting  me  go?  "  inquired  Tom. 

"  He  mentioned  neglect  and  — "  Jane  hesitated 
painfully — "  and  bad  habits,"  she  finished. 

Tom  did  not  suspect  what  she  had  in  mind. 
He  was  conscious  of  no  glaring  scandals  in  his 
conduct. 

"  That's  it,"  he  jeered.  "  Just  because  a  fellow 
goes  out  for  a  good  time  once  in  a  while,  he's  ac- 
quiring bad  habits.  I'm  glad  I'm  out  of  that  place, 
anyway.  Now  I  have  a  chance  to  look  for  some- 
thing big." 

"  You  have  always  been  looking  for  something 
big,  Tom,"  Jane  reminded  him. 

"  Yes,  and  I'll  find  it,  too,"  he  retorted.  "  Bad 
luck  can't  stick  to  me  forever." 

Jane  looked  at  him  sadly.     "Something  big!" 


UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS         147 

again.  And  "  Bad  luck !  "  The  words  struck  a 
chill  to  her  heart.  Her  mind  flew  back  to  the  scene 
in  the  Fairview  home,  seven  months  before.  Tom 
was  the  same  irresponsible  boy  that  he  had  been 
then.  Experience  had  taught  him  nothing.  "  Bad 
luck "  was  still  his  sufficient  excuse  for  failure. 
She  had  sent  him  forth  into  the  world  of  men  and 
women  "  to  find  himself,"  to  make  good,  and  then 
come  back  to  her.  Could  it  be  that  her  brave  ex- 
periment had  failed  because  there  was  nothing  for 
Tom  to  find? 

The  voice  of  Mrs.  Bannan,  calling  from  the  head 
of  the  stairs,  rose  stridently  clear  of  the  muffled 
clangor  from  the  closed  parlor.  "  ,You  down  there, 
Mr.  Wilson?"  she  cried. 

"  Hello,"  Tom  answered. 

"  Here's  a  gentleman  to  see  you,"  shrieked  the 
landlady. 

"To  see  me?"  echoed  Tom.  He  glanced  at 
Jane.  There  was  something  in  her  face  that  he  did 
not  fathom.  "  Oh!  "  he  said,  with  a  flash  of  illu- 
mination. "  It's  your  Dad." 

He  walked  towards  the  door.  The  Judge's  legs 
came  into  view  through  the  top  of  the  door  as  he 
made  his  way  slowly  down  the  stairs  in  the  hall. 
Tom  went  forward  to  greet  him.  "  Come  right 
down,  Judge  Belknap,"  he  cried.  "  Jane's  down 
here." 

The  Judge  halted  in  the  door.     Tom  extended 


i48  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

a  hospitable  hand.  "  Welcome  to  our  little  city," 
he  cried.  "  How  are  you?  " 

The  Judge  bowed  distantly,  ignoring  the  prof- 
fered hand  shake.  "  I'm  very  well,  thank  you," 
he  said  frigidly.  Jane  intervened. 

"Hello,  Dad,"  she  cried.  "Got  through  with 
your  business?  " 

"  I've  found  all  I  wanted  to  know,"  he  growled. 

Tom  beamed  on  his  visitor.  The  Judge's  oc- 
casional displays  of  offended  dignity  had  always  ap- 
pealed mightily  to  a  certain  spirit  of  boyish  per- 
versity in  Tom.  "  It's  bully  of  you  to  come  to  see 
me,"  he  said.  "  I  appreciate  it,  all  right."  He 
lugged  up  another  chair.  "  Sit  down,"  he  begged. 

"  This  is  not  a  social  call,"  said  the  Judge,  stiffly 
on  his  guard.  He  was  never  quite  certain  what  the 
boy  intended  when  he  assumed  this  tone,  but  expe- 
rience bade  him  beware. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom  cheerfully,  placing  the  chair 
before  him,  "  sit  down  anyway." 

The  Judge  shied  at  the  chair  like  a  wise  old 
bear  at  a  steel  trap.  "  I've  just  come  from  seeing 
Dick  Kennedy,"  he  announced  portentously. 

"  Why,"  said  Tom,  with  bland  surprise.  "  I'm 
not  with  him  any  more." 

"  So  I  understand,"  said  Belknap,  biting  the 
words  off  savagely. 

"  What  did  he  have  to  say?  "  inquired  Tom,  more 
blandly  still.  Jane  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair. 


UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS         149 

"  Nothing  that  I  did  not  already  know,"  growled 
the  Judge.  He  turned  abruptly  to  Jane.  "  Have 
you  had  your  talk?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Not  —  not  about  that,"  she  faltered. 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  in  on  this,  if  it's  about  my- 
self," interposed  Tom.  The  Judge  eyed  him  ear- 
nestly. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  conditions  under  which 
you  left  Fairview?"  he  asked. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Tom.     "  Why?  " 

"  I  mean  so  far  as  they  concerned  your  engage- 
ment to  my  daughter,"  persisted  Belknap. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Tom,  "  but  I  haven't  had  much 
time  to  make  good  yet." 

The  Judge  favored  his  auditors  with  a  glimpse  of 
his  most  impressive  manner.  "  Your  conduct  dur- 
ing the  short  time  you  have  been  here  has  rendered 
further  consideration  of  the  matter  impossible,"  he 
said. 

Tom  became  suddenly  serious.  "  I  wish  you'd 
make  that  clear,"  said  he. 

"  I'll  speak  plainly,  then,"  said  the  Judge. 

Jane  rose  from  her  seat  by  the  little  table.  "  I'll 
wait  upstairs,  Dad,"  she  said,  and  walked  towards 
the  door.  The  Judge  motioned  her  back  to  her 
chair. 

"  Don't  go,  Jane,"  he  commanded.  "  I  want  you 
to  hear  all  that  is  said."  He  wheeled  suddenly  on 
Tom,  who  was  standing  in  bewildered  silence,  un- 


150  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

able  to  imagine  what  all  this  pother  might  be  about, 
and  shot  this  question  at  him : 

"  Do  you  know  a  Miss  LeRoy?  " 

The  utter  unexpectedness  of  the  attack  staggered 
Tom. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  after  a  moment 

"She's  an  actress,  isn't  she?"  was  the  Judge's 
next  query. 

In  the  interests  of  truth  and  accuracy,  Tom  hesi- 
tated again.  "  Well,"  he  qualified,  "  she's  on  the 
stage.  Yes." 

The  Judge,  who  had  some  reputation  as  a  rough- 
and-tumble  cross-examiner  to  sustain,  noted  Tom's 
hesitations,  promptly  misinterpreted  them  to  fit  his 
case,  after  the  manner  of  cross-examiners,  and 
turned  to  his  daughter  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  as 
though  asking  the  jury  not  to  fail  to  take  account 
of  the  witness's  inability  to  escape  the  truth. 

"  What  are  your  relations  ? "  was  the  next 
searcher. 

"  Very  pleasant,"  replied  the  witness,  who  had 
by  this  time  regained  his  composure.  "  She's  a  nice 
little  girl.  Do  you  know  her?" 

The  Judge  flushed  angrily  at  this  turning  of  the 
worm.  "  No,  sir,"  he  bellowed.  "  I  do  not,  sir." 

"Then  why  these  questions?"  demanded  the 
worm.  The  Judge  laid  a  firm  grasp  on  his  temper 
and  took  a  fresh  start. 

"  Do  you  deny  that  you  have  been  spending  your 


UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS         151 

time  and  money  on  this  woman?"  he  thundered. 
The  jury  leaned  eagerly  forward. 

"  I  haven't  had  any  money  to  spend,"  was  the  re- 
ply, "  but  I've  escorted  her  to  the  theater  once  or 
twice.  Is  there  any  harm  in  that?  " 

The  jury  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  baffled 
cross-examiner  sneered. 

"  You  can't  deceive  me  by  trying  to  make  light 
of  it,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  record  of  your  conduct 
ever  since  you  came  to  New  York.  Kennedy  at- 
tended to  that  for  me." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Tom,  indignantly.  "  You've 
had  Kennedy  play  the  spy  on  me." 

The  Judge's  flush  deepened.  "  I  had  a  perfect 
right  to  know  what  you  were  doing,"  he  roared. 

"  I'd  have  told  you  if  you'd  have  asked  me,"  re- 
torted the  angry  youth. 

The  Judge  fell  back  on  the  tricks  of  his  trade. 
"  Then  you  admit  that  it  is  all  true?  "  he  demanded, 
with  another  glance  at  Jane. 

"  No,"  said  Tom  hotly,  "  I  don't,  but,  if  you've 
already  made  up  your  mind,  what's  the  use  of  my 
saying  anything?  " 

"  I  want  Jane  to  be  satisfied,"  said  Belknap. 

Tom  turned  his  back  on  his  annoyer.  "  What  do 
you  want  to  know,  Jane?  "  he  said. 

"  Only  what  you  want  to  tell  me,  Tom,"  replied 
the  girl.  There  was  a  frank  appeal  in  the  youth's 
voice  that  touched  her,  a  note  of  sadness,  too,  at  her 


152  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

mistrust.  Jane  had  never  accepted  her  father's 
revelations  at  their  face  value.  She  knew  Tom 
wouldn't  lie  to  her.  She  rose  to  her  feet  as  Tom 
approached.' 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell,"  said  Tom.  He  stood 
very  near  and  gazed  into  her  eyes  with  compelling 
candor.  "  I've  been  a  bit  of  a  fool  in  giving  Ken- 
nedy a  chance  to  fire  me,  but  I've  done  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of.  Do  you  believe  that?" 

"  Yes,  Tom,"  said  the  girl,  laying  her  hands  in 
his. 

Tom  swung  joyously  on  his  heel  to  face  the 
Judge. 

"  You  see,  that's  all  there's  to  it,"  he  cried. 

"  Bosh,"  snorted  the  infuriated  Judge. 

"  No,  Dad,"  said  Jane,  firmly.  "  I  don't  think 
that  Mr.  Kennedy  likes  Tom.  That's  why  he  said 
those  things."  And  her  face  settled  into  that  calm, 
decided  expression,  which  her  father,  in  his  mo- 
ments of  disappointment  was  tempted  to  character- 
ize as  obstinacy.  He  gazed  at  her  furiously,  Tom 
smilingly,  his  triumph  seemed  complete.  For  a 
space  all  three  were  silent. 

"  To-om.     Oh,  To-o-om." 

A  girl's  voice  rang  with  silvery  distinctness 
through  the  upper  regions  of  the  house.  It  pro- 
longed itself  and  hung  each  time  upon  the  name 
with  sweet  familiarity  and  died  away  in  a  caressing 
cadence. 


UNEXPECTED  MEETINGS         153 

The  effect  upon  the  group  below  was  startling. 
Each  figure  stiffened  instantly  into  an  attitude  of 
strained  attention,  and  the  three  stood  there  like  so 
many  wax  figures  —  listening. 

"  To-om.     Where  are  you-ou?  " 

The  voice  was  nearer  now,  and  its  endearment 
more  unmistakable.  The  group  stirred  itself. 
Tom  turned  to  Jane  with  an  open-mouthed  stare. 
The  Judge  relaxed  into  a  sarcastic  grin.  Jane  was 
the  first  to  speak.  She  was  pale,  and  her  voice  was 
flat  and  colorless. 

"  Somebody  is  calling  you,"  she  said. 

Tom  recovered  himself  with  a  gasp.  "Excuse 
me  a  moment,"  he  said,  and  hastened  towards  the 
door. 

Too  late !  Even  as  he  spoke  there  was  a  tapping 
of  small  heels  on  the  stairs,  and  a  moment  later 
Amy  LeRoy  stood  in  the  doorway  and  confronted 
Tom  with  an  impatient  little  stamp  of  the  foot. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  VERDICT 

AMY  laid  her  hand  on  Tom's  arm  with  a  pretty 
air  of  proprietorship.  "  Why  didn't  you  an- 
swer me?"  she  pouted.  "I've  been  calling  all 
over  the  house  for  you."  She  peered  into  the  room 
and  started  back  with  an  air  of  sweet  confusion. 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  didn't  know  that  you 
were  with  anybody." 

It  seemed  natural  enough  she  shouldn't,  for  the 
fact  wasn't  strikingly  obvious  at  the  moment.  The 
Belknaps  had  retreated  into  the  corner  by  the  win- 
dow and  were  exhibiting  an  air  of  conscientious  de- 
tachment which  might  well  have  indicated  that,  so 
far  as  they  were  aware,  they  were  the  only  persons 
in  the  room. 

But  Amy  LeRoy  was  not  to  be  snubbed  so  easily 
—  not  by  a  girl  from  the  hayseed  belt,  anyhow. 
She  had  spent  some  careful  minutes  before  her  mir- 
ror, solely  for  Jane's  benefit,  and  she  was  unwilling 
to  lose  her  labor.  She  had  on  her  very  smartest 
blue  gown,  and  her  most  effective  blue  hat,  and  her 
most  dazzling  complexion,  and  such  diamonds  as 
she  had  been  able  to  store  up  during  her  short  foot- 
light  career  were  most  artfully  displayed.  Framed 
154 


THE  VERDICT  155 

in  the  dark  doorway,  she  made  a  striking  picture  un- 
der the  gaslight,  and  she  knew  it  and  was  determined 
that  the  village  maiden  should  be  enlightened  also. 

She  signaled  her  determination  to  Tom  with  an 
importunate  toss  of  her  head  towards  Jane  and  a 
stubborn  little  frown  in  his  own  direction.  Then 
she  stood  calmly  waiting.  The  embarrassed  youth 
could  not  evade  her.  He  coughed  feebly. 

"  Amy,"  he  began,  "  I  want  you  to  know  Miss 
Belknap.  You've  heard  me  speak  of  her.  'Also 
her  father,  Judge  Belknap."  The  Belknaps  moved 
a  short  step  forward.  Tom  bowed  elaborately. 

"  This  is  Miss  LeRoy,"  he  announced. 

Amy  held  her  pose  in  the  doorway  just  long 
enough  to  make  sure  that  the  picture  should  not  be 
lost  on  the  villagers,  then  moved  swiftly  upon  Jane, 
with  hands  outstretched  and  rapturous  welcome  shin- 
ing in  her  eyes.  A  patronizing  nod,  bestowed  in 
passing,  was  the  Judge's  portion. 

Jane  stood  until  Amy's  arms  were  within  easy  em- 
bracing distance,  then  stepped  neatly  out  of  range 
and  bowed  stiffly. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  LeRoy?  "  she  said. 

Amy  checked  her  demonstrative  rush  just  in  time 
to  preserve  her  balance.  If  she  was  offended  at  the 
rebuff,  no  hint  of  irritation  was  suffered  to  show  it- 
self in  her  face. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  in  honeyed  tones. 
"You're  from  the  country,  aren't  you?"  and  left 


i56  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

it  to  Jane  to  guess  whether  this  raillery  was  directed 
to  her  rustic  manners  or  to  her  dress,  which  Miss 
LeRoy  had  analyzed  at  a  glance.  "  Tom  talks 
about  you  so  much  that  I  almost  feel  as  if  I  knew 
you."  She  turned  to  that  unhappy  youth. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  butt  in,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  I 
thought,  of  course,  you  knew  I  was  waiting.  If 
I'd  known  you  were  engaged,  I'd  have  run  right 
along." 

"  I'd  forgotten  all  about  it,"  said  Tom,  truthfully 
enough. 

"  Well !  "  she  cried,  stirred  to  sudden  wrath,  not 
so  much  by  his  words  as  on  account  of  a  glimmer  she 
fancied  she  saw  in  Jane's  eye.  "  You  better  wake 
up.  I  can't  expect  them  to  hold  the  curtain  for  me 
while  you  entertain." 

"  You'd  better  not  wait  for  me  then,"  said  Tom, 
apathetically.  "  I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  let  us  detain  you,"  Jane  broke  in.  "  We 
must  be  going,  anyway." 

"  Oh,  no,"  protested  Amy.  "  Don't  let  me  break 
up  the  party."  She  nodded  a  pert  good-bye  to  the 
Judge.  "  I  can  find  my  way  alone." 

She  tripped  to  the  door,  and  turned  there.  "  You 
needn't  come  for  me  to-night,"  she  cried  to  Tom. 
As  she  ran  up  the  stairs  she  flung  a  parting  shot  over 
the  bannister  in  mocking  recitative.  "  I've  got  an- 
other en-ga-a-ge-ment,"  she  chanted  gaily.  Then 
the  front  door  slammed. 


THE  VERDICT  157 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  The  Judge's 
harsh  voice  cut  the  silence. 

"  So  that's  the  girl,  is  it?  "  he  sneered. 

"  That's  Miss  LeRoy.     Yes,"  said  Tom. 

"  You  seem  to  be  pretty  well  acquainted."  The 
Judge  strode  up  to  Tom  and  shook  an  accusing  fin- 
ger under  his  nose.  "What  claim  has  she  on 
you?"  he  demanded. 

Tom's  lips  twitched.  'A  quick  flush  mounted  to 
his  forehead.  He  was  near  the  limit  of  his  pa- 
tience. 

"  Dad !  "  cried  Jane.  She  flew  to  his  side  and 
grasped  his  outstretched  arm. 

"  Be  quiet,  Jane,"  he  commanded,  thrusting  her 
aside.  He  returned  to  Tom.  "  Answer  my  ques- 
tion," he  roared. 

"  You  haven't  any  right  to  speak  to  me  like  that," 
said  Tom.  He  spoke  very  quietly. 

"  I  am  speaking  for  my  daughter,"  cried  Belknap. 

Tom  rammed  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  and 
turned  away  with  a  disdainful  shrug.  "  Jane 
wouldn't  stoop  to  ask  such  a  question,"  he  said. 

"  Please  don't  say  any  more,  Dad,"  begged  the 
girl.  "  Can't  you  see  the  position  you  are  placing 
him  in?" 

"  I'm  going  to  get  at  the  truth  of  this  thing,  here 
and  now,"  shouted  the  Judge,  whose  temper  was 
rapidly  disintegrating  under  the  combined  shocks  of 
Tom's  contemptuous  manner  and  Jane's  persistent 


158  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

interference.  "  What  claim  has  this  girl  on  you  ?  " 
he  roared  again. 

Tom  looked  at  Jane  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye 
before  he  decided  to  answer.  "  No  claim,"  he  said 
shortly.  "  We're  very  good  friends.  That's  all." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  shouted  Belknap. 

"  Then,"  said  Tom,  "  there  isn't  any  use  of  my 
saying  anything  more." 

"  If  you  don't,"  bellowed  the  Judge,  "  we  will  be 
justified  in  forming  our  own  conclusions.'* 

"  You  seem  to  have  done  that  already,"  retorted 
Tom. 

For  the  moment  the  Judge's  wrath  choked  him. 
Jane  hastened  to  his  side. 

"Father  —  please,"  she  pleaded. 

Belknap  pulled  himself  together.  "  I  can't  ex- 
pect you  to  understand,  Jane,"  he  said,  "  but  I've 
seen  that  type  of  woman  before."  He  turned  to 
Tom  and  his  voice  rose  again.  "  And  I  know,"  he 
continued,  "  what  such  friendship  means." 

"  Now,  hold  on,  Judge  Belknap."  Tom's  voice 
cracked  like  a  whip.  "  .You  may  say  anything  to 
me  that  you  please,  but  —  I  shan't  allow  you  to  in- 
sult Miss  LeRoy." 

The  Judge  blinked  in  astonishment  at  this  fresh 
audacity. 

"  Are  you  in  love  with  her?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  know  that  I'm  not." 

"  Then  why  constitute  yourself  her  champion?  " 


THE  VERDICT  159 

"  I'd  defend  any  woman  who  wasn't  here  to 
speak  for  herself."  Tom  walked  up  to  the  Judge 
and  looked  him  in  the  eye  at  short  range.  He 
spoke  very  deliberately,  measuring  the  effect  of 
every  word  as  it  left  his  lips.  "  Just  because  Miss 
LeRoy  happens  to  be  on  the  stage,"  he  said,  "  it 
doesn't  give  you  the  right  to  throw  mud  at  her.  I 
know  her  —  and  you  don't,  and  she's  just  as  good 
and  pure  as  any  girl  I  know." 

For  a  brief  space  the  two  glared  at  each  other. 
Then  the  Judge's  lip  curled  and  he  turned  away. 

"  I  don't  think  we  need  discuss  this  subject  any 
further,"  he  said,  with  bitter  emphasis.  "  We  un- 
derstand each  other,  I  think."  Half  way  to  the 
door  he  stopped. 

"  From  now  on,  you  can  do  anything  you  please." 
He  passed  out.  "  Come,  Jane,"  he  called,  and  con- 
tinued up  the  stairs. 

Tom  gazed  at  the  girl  in  mute  appeal  from  the 
Judge's  decision.  She  hesitated,  almost  imper- 
ceptibly, then  started  to  follow  her  father.  Tom 
put  himself  in  her  path. 

"  Do  you  agree  to  that,  Jane?" 

"  If  you  remember,  Tom  — "  something  Hard  rose 
in  her  throat,  but  she  gulped  it  down  — "If  you  re- 
member, I  told  you  that  you  were  perfectly  free  to 
choose." 

"  But  this  is  all  nonsense,"  he  cried.  "  I  haven't 
done  a  thing  except  to  lose  my  job." 


i6o  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Jane's  lips  quivered.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
wall  beyond.  Through  the  mist  that  dimmed  them, 
glimmered  and  danced  a  vision,  all  in  brilliant  blue, 
framed  in  the  dark  doorway.  Amy's  picture  had 
not  been  lost.  The  trembling  lips  drew  together 
into  a  colorless  line. 

"  Jane."  Her  father's  voice  rasped  impatiently 
from  the  landing  above. 

Jane's  lips  parted  numbly.  "  I'm  afraid  — "  she 
panted  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  and  stopped  short,  seek- 
ing for  words  and  tones  which  should  disguise  her 
jealousy  and  cover  up  a  strange,  sudden  weakness 
which  shamed  her  before  Tom.  When  she  spoke 
again,  her  voice  rang  in  her  ears  with  a  curious,  con- 
ventional coldness. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  she  repeated,  "  that  you  still  lack 
—  character." 

She  moved  forward.     Tom  stepped  aside. 

"  Listen,  Jane,"  he  cried  despairingly.  "  If  you 
leave  me  like  this,  I  won't  be  responsible  for  what 
I  do." 

She  hesitated  once  again,  and  again  her  father's 
summons  sounded.  Now  she  had  left  the  room, 
and  Tom  could  hear  each  footfall  as  she  slowly 
mounted  the  stairs. 

He  fell  into  a  chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

"  Very  well,  if  that's  the  way  you  want  it  to  be," 
he  murmured  brokenly. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MISS  DUNSTAN'S  WATERLOO 

ALONE  in  New  York  without  a  dollar! 
Three  weeks  more  had  brought  Tom  Wilson 
to  this  sorry  pass.  He  had  reached  the  end  of  his 
tether,  almost  the  end  of  his  hopes. 

It  had  not  been  for  lack  of  courage  and  effort. 
Tom  had  tried  hard  —  tried  everything.  He  had 
haunted  employment  agencies.  Daily  he  pored 
through  the  "  want "  pages  of  the  World  and  other 
newspapers.  Columns  upon  columns  of  opportuni- 
ties were  there  for  men  trained  in  some  special  line 
of  work;  nothing  at  all,  it  seemed,  for  the  man  who 
was  willing  to  do  anything.  The  one  thing  Tom 
could  do  well  was  to  run  an  automobile,  and  he 
sought  diligently  for  work  of  that  sort.  But  it  was 
the  dull  season  for  the  taxicab  companies  and  the 
owners  of  luxurious  private  cars  were  in  Europe,  or 
touring  the  country.  Besides,  there  were  difficul- 
ties about  licenses  and  references  that  proved  insur- 
mountable. 

He  woke  one  day  to  find  himself  without  carfare 
or  the  price  of  a  newspaper.  He  had  fallen  further 
and  further  in  arrears  with  his  landlady,  and  evic- 
tion and  park  benches  were  staring  him  in  the  face. 
161 


162  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

He  had  kept  away  from  the  boarding  house  as  much 
as  he  could  of  late,  appearing  only  for  meals  and 
slinking  in  late  at  night  to  avoid  Mrs.  Bannan's 
hostile  glare,  which  followed  each  mouthful  as  it 
disappeared.  He  went  about  with  a  furtive  look, 
as  though  he  had  been  guilty  of  some  crime.  To 
be  without  money  in  New  York  is  a  crime  —  they 
send  you  to  The  Island. 

He  walked  the  streets  at  night,  past  gorgeous 
restaurants,  where  the  price  of  a  meal  for  two  would 
have  squared  him  for  a  month  with  Mrs.  Bannan. 
He  fell  to  studying  the  streams  of  faces.  The  gay, 
the  thoughtless,  the  contented  —  they  had  money, 
but  they  seemed  a  small  minority.  He  saw  more 
like  himself,  troubled,  anxious,  desperate,  and  he  set 
it  all  down  to  empty  pockets.  He  was  wrong,  of 
course,  in  most  cases,  but  it  was  the  natural  mistake 
of  youth  to  translate  the  complex  expression  of  the 
woes  of  a  great  city  into  the  terms  of  his  own  wretch- 
edness and  inexperience.  He  fell  at  last  into  a  con- 
dition of  reckless  despair.  There  seemed  no  chance 
for  him,  and,  although  he  did  not  give  up  trying,  he 
almost  ceased  to  expect  anything  but  rebuffs  and 
failure. 

As  for  Jane  —  he  tried  not  to  think  of  her.  There 
was  nothing  that  could  be  done.  Besides,  a  more 
pressing  problem  worried  him.  His  shoes  were 
wearing  out.  They  had  become  broken  and  shape- 
less and  altogether  disreputable.  When  he  entered 


MISS  DUNSTAN'S  WATERLOO      163 

an  office  or  a  shop,  it  was  necessary  to  get  them  out 
of  sight,  if  possible.  Nobody  would  hire  a  man 
who  wore  such  shoes. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Tom's  sense  of  justice 
that  he  did  not  think  of  blaming  Amy  for  what  had 
occurred.  He  had  no  notion  of  the  adroit  manoeu- 
vre by  which  she  had  succeeded  in  placing  him  at  a 
disadvantage  with  Jane.  Such  feminine  wiles  were 
entirely  outside  the  scope  of  his  Fairview  experi- 
ence. It  was  surely  an  unlucky  chance  that  had 
brought  Amy  upon  the  scene  so  inopportunely.  Even 
at  that,  Tom  did  not  realize  how  mischievous  her 
appearance  had  been,  how  much  it  had  to  do  with 
Jane's  decision.  He  and  Amy  were  better  friends 
than  ever.  He  was  still  her  guardian  and  pro- 
tector. She  was  the  only  being  in  New  York  who 
seemed  to  place  any  value  upon  his  services.  To 
her  he  was  still  able  to  be  of  use. 

He  had  seen  nothing  further  of  Jimmy  Michael- 
son.  Amy  had  easily  been  able  to  manage  that. 

One  night  —  it  was  the  night  of  the  day  on  which 
Tom's  shoe  burst  clear  across  the  upper  —  there 
was  an  unusual  illumination  in  the  parlor  of  the  Ban- 
nan  boarding  house.  The  big  landlady  was  absent, 
having  at  Leitz's  solicitation,  accompanied  him  to 
the  roof  garden,  that  she  might  satisfy  herself  with 
her  own  eyes  as  to  the  mooted  ability  of  Miss  Le- 
Roy  to  buy  diamonds  out  of  her  earnings  as  an  ac- 
tress. Miss  Dunstan  had  taken  advantage  of  this 


164  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

opportunity  to  put  in  a  solid  evening  of  practice  at 
the  piano,  where  she  pounded  and  shrieked  with  a 
deserving  persistence.  To  her,  thus  engaged,  en- 
tered Lucy,  the  colored  maid,  yawning  and  grum- 
bling at  the  task  which  was  keeping  her  out  of  her 
bed  long  after  her  hour. 

This  task  was  to  prepare  sleeping  quarters  for 
Tom  Wilson.  Tom  had  been  moved  again,  to  the 
station  nearest  the  street  door.  His  old-fashioned, 
wooden  trunk  was  standing  under  the  parlor  win- 
dow, and  various  of  his  most  intimate  personal  be- 
longings were  heaped  upon  it  or  lay  scattered  on  the 
floor  where  they  had  fallen  when  the  mass  had  been 
dumped.  In  another  corner  stood  his  bed,  a  piece 
of  furniture  that  paraded  by  daylight  as  a  combina- 
tion bookcase  and  writing  desk. 

Lucy  gave  the  pillows  a  final  pounding,  then  drew 
tight  the  strap  which  held  the  bedding  in  place  dur- 
ing its  hours  of  masquerade,  and  banged  the  bed 
shut.  She  went  out  into  the  hall  and  returned  with 
a  pitcher  of  water  and  a  wash  bowl,  which  she  placed 
on  top  of  the  trunk,  making  room  for  them  by  push- 
ing a  few  more  of  Tom's  things  off  on  to  the  floor. 
Then,  with  a  sleepy  glance  about  the  room  to  see 
that  everything  had  been  done  in  accordance  with 
the  instructions  of  Mrs.  Bannan,  she  began  without 
a  word  to  turn  out  the  gas  lights,  first  the  chande- 
lier, lastly  the  lamp  that  stood  on  the  piano  above 
Miss  Dunstan's  music. 


MISS  DUNSTAN'S  WATERLOO      165 

The  room  was  left  in  darkness,  save  for  the  dim 
rays  which  a  distant  street  lamp  sent  through  the 
windows.  Miss  Dunstan's  music  ended  with  a  bang 
as  she  dropped  both  her  hands  on  the  keyboard. 
She  jumped  from  the  stool. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Lucy?  "  she  cried. 

"  Mrs.  Bannan  don't  like  no  gas  goin'  after  ten 
o'clock,"  answered  the  black  girl  sullenly. 

"  But  I  must  have  some  light  to  see  my  music." 

Lucy  was  unmoved.  "  Dem's  de  rules,  Miss 
Dunstan,"  she  said.  "  An*  you  know  how  she  fusses 
when  dey's  broke." 

"  Seems  to  me  I'm  entitled  to  some  considera- 
tion," snapped  the  blonde  woman.  "  I  pay  my 
board  regularly." 

"  Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  dat,"  replied  Lucy  in 
stubborn  tones.  "  I  only  knows  what  I'se  told,  and 
I  was  told  to  fix  a  place  for  Mr.  Wilson  to  sleep 
here,  and  den  put  out  de  lights.  Dat  lets  me  out," 
and  she  turned  to  go. 

The  front  door  slammed  loudly  as  Lucy  delivered 
herself  of  this  ultimatum.  As  she  attempted  to 
leave  the  parlor,  the  broad  form  of  Joe  Weinstein 
blocked  the  exit. 

"What's  the  matter?"  sang  Joe,  as  he  peered 
into  the  darkened  parlor.  "  Is  the  house  pulled?  " 

"  Thank  goodness,  you've  come,"  cried  Miss 
Dunstan,  hysterically.  "  Perhaps  you  can  induce 
Lucy  to  go  to  bed  and  mind  her  own  business." 


166  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Lucy  sniffed  loudly.  "  You  don'  s'pose  I'se 
stayin'  up  to  hear  de  loose  stuff  what  you'se  tearin' 
off  o'  dat  ting?  "  she  retorted. 

Joe  advanced  into  the  room.  "  On  your  way, 
Salome,"  said  he  to  the  black  girl.  "  You'll  have  to 
get  breakfast  for  us  in  a  little  while.  To  the  hay 
for  yours." 

"  Dat's  de  way  wid  white  folks,"  whimpered  the 
girl.  "  Dey  don'  appreciate  nothin'  what  you 
does." 

Joe  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  produced  a  coin. 
"  Here,"  he  said.  "  Go  and  buy  yourself  an  auto- 
mobile." 

The  black  face  was  split  by  a  wide  grin.  "  'Course 
I  didn't  mean  you,  Mr.  Weinstein,"  said  Lucy.  "  If 
all  de  folks  was  like  you  — " 

"  I'm  strong  for  that  disrobing  act,"  interrupted 
Joe.  "  So  go  to  it,  Salome.  I'll  fix  it  with  mother." 
He  struck  a  match  on  his  trousers  and,  with 
great  deliberation,  relighted  every  jet  in  the 
chandelier. 

"  I  hope  you  understan*  my  position,"  said  the 
girl,  backing  to  the  door.  "  If  Mrs.  Bannan  says 
anything  to  me  for  this,  I'll  quit  her,  flat."  With 
which  defiance  of  the  absent  tyrant  she  took  herself 
away  unto  her  own  place. 

Miss  Dunstan,  her  courage  restored  by  the  ex- 
ample of  Joe's,  relighted  the  piano  lamp  and  re- 
turned to  her  stool.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  somebody 


MISS  DUNSTdN'S  WATERLOO      167 

with  independence  in  this  house,"  she  snapped. 
"  Does  my  music  annoy  you?  " 

"  Not  if  it  gives  you  pleasure,  girlie,"  said  Wein- 
stein.  He  produced  another  match,  lighted  the 
reading  lamp  on  the  small  table  under  the  chande- 
lier, settled  himself  in  an  easy  chair  and  unfolded 
a  copy  of  the  Morning  Telegraph  which  he  carried 
in  his  hand.  He  skimmed  rapidly  over  the  head- 
lines of  the  theatrical  and  sporting  stones  that  filled 
its  first  pages  and  turned  to  the  tables  of  race-track 
performances  in  the  rear.  Miss  Dunstan  watched 
him. 

"  Play  something  sad,"  he  said.  "  My  feelings 
are  hurt." 

"  Did  somebody  insult  you?  "  inquired  Miss  Dun- 
Stan,  with  whom  such  a  happening  was  of  frequent 
occurrence. 

"  Naw,"  said  Joe,  disdainfully.  "  I  got  stung 
for  all  I  had,  to-night." 

"Ain't  that  too  bad?"  she  sympathized. 
"Would  you  like  me  to  play  the  Barcarolle?  " 

Joe  looked  around  with  an  expression  of  interest. 
It  sounded  so  much  like  "  bank-roll,"  as  Miss  Dun- 
stan pronounced  it.  "Is  that  a  gambling  song?" 
he  asked. 

"  It's  from  the  Tales  of  Hoffman,"  explained  the 
singer,  in  pity  of  his  ignorance.  "  It's  one  of  my 
favorites,  and  I  think  it's  grand." 

"  The  grander  it  is  the  better  I'll  like  it,"  Joe 


168  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

assured  her.  He  settled  himself  to  a  study  of  the 
"  dope "  for  the  morrow's  races,  while  she  pro- 
ceeded to  soothe  his  troubled  feelings  with  the  magic 
of  harmony.  She  had  hardly  got  fairly  started 
when  Merkle  burst  into  the  room  though  the  cur- 
tained door  that  led  into  the  back  parlor. 

The  newspaper  man  was  a  seedy  looking  object. 
He  had  left  his  bed  in  haste.  He  came  in  rubbing 
his  eyes.  He  had  thrust  his  legs  into  his  trousers, 
his  feet  into  a  pair  of  slippers  and  wrapped  a  tat- 
tered dressing  gown  about  his  pajamas.  His  thick 
black  hair  stood  upright,  in  two  tumbled  ridges 
along  either  side  of  his  elongated  bald  spot,  giving 
him  a  peculiarly  Satanic  appearance  as  he  glared  at 
the  pianist. 

"  Is  this  an  all  night  session  ?  "  he  shouted.  Miss 
Dunstan  affected  not  to  notice  him.  Weinstein 
glanced  up  drowsily  from  his  Morning  Telegraph 
and  turned  in  his  chair  to  face  the  intruder. 

"  Hello,  Merkle,"  he  said.  "  When  did  you  get 
in?" 

"  I've  been  trying  to  sleep  for  half  an  hour," 
growled  Merkle,  keeping  a  ferocious  eye  on  Miss 
Dunstan.  "What  does  she  think  she's  doing?" 
He  walked  across  the  room,  leaned  across  the 
square-topped  instrument  and  said : 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Dunstan.  Don't  you  think  it's 
time  to  quit  ?  " 

Miss  Dunstan  clasped  her  hands  with  the  sudden- 


MISS  DUNSTAN'S  WATERLOO      169 

ness  which,  on  the  operatic  stage,  serves  to  denote 
extreme  agitation.  "  How  you  startled  me !  "  she 
gasped.  "  I  was  so  wrapped  up  in  the  music  that 
I  almost  imagined  myself  in  Venice." 

"Then,"  suggested  Merkle,  "perhaps  it 
wouldn't  require  much  effort  on  your  part  to  call  a 
gondola  and  paddle  away." 

She  flared  up  at  him.  "  I  am  playing  this  by 
special  request,"  she  cried. 

"  My  request  is  also  special,"  said  Merkle. 
"  Don't." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  retorted 
angrily.  She  brought  both  hands  down  on  the  key- 
board with  every  ounce  of  her  weight  behind  them, 
and  clawed  away  at  top  speed. 

Merkle  stood  watching  her  for  a  few  moments 
with  a  savage  look  in  his  eye,  then  stepped  to  the 
window  and  threw  it  open.  Instantly  the  room  was 
filled  with  appalling  discord.  From  the  beer  garden 
across  the  way,  propelled  by  the  full  power  of  the 
beer  garden  orchestra,  the  notes  of  "  Has  Anybody 
Here  Seen  Kelly? "  crashed  into  the  room  and 
grappled  with  the  clanging  "  Barcarolle."  The 
struggle  was  fierce  while  it  lasted.  Sharps  and  flats 
collided  in  midair  and  expired  with  a  miserable 
clatter.  The  piano  crackled  like  a  machine  gun 
under  Miss  Dunstan's  heroic  efforts. 

Joe  Weinstein  leaped  from  his  chair  and  pressed 
his  hands  to  his  tortured  ears.  Merkle  seated  him- 


iyo  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

self  nonchalantly  on  a  corner  of  Tom's  trunk,  and, 
with  a  slight  smile  on  his  face,  awaited  the  inevitable 
outcome. 

It  came  with  a  final  crash  of  the  piano,  in  which 
Miss  Dunstan  concentrated  the  remnants  of  her 
strength  and  fury.  She  jumped  from  the  stool, 
snatched  up  her  music,  and  advanced  upon  the  im- 
passive figure  by  the  window. 

"  Mr.  Merkle,"  she  shrieked,  in  tones  which 
"  Kelly's  "  utmost  effort  could  not  overwhelm,  "  I 
once  referred  to  you  as  a  gentleman.  I  shall  apolo- 
gize for  my  mistake.  Good  night,  Mr.  Weinstein." 
And  she  stamped  out  of  the  room. 

Merkle  watched  her  out  with  a  wooden  face. 
Then  he  fished  a  half  smoked  pipe  from  the  pocket 
of  the  tattered  dressing  gown,  lighted  it,  and  puffed 
away  with  an  air  of  calm  satisfaction.  Joe  waved 
imploring  hands  towards  the  window. 

"  Gee,  that's  awful,"  he  cried. 

Merkle  rose  deliberately  and  drew  down  the  win- 
dow. "  Desperate  cases  require  desperate  reme- 
dies," he  quoted,  resuming  his  perch  on  the  trunk. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FRIDAY,   THE   THIRTEENTH 

JOE  WEINSTEIN  returned  to  his  seat  and  his 
study  of  probabilities.  Merkle,  who  seemed  in 
no  great  hurry  to  resume  his  quest  of  sleep,  smoked 
for  a  time  in  brooding  silence.  His  eye  lighted  on 
Joe's  paper. 

"That  this  evening's  dope  sheet?"  he  inquired. 

"  No,"  grunted  Joe,  sunk  deep  in  his  chair. 
"  To-morrow  morning's  Telegraph." 

There  was  another  depressing  silence.  Merkle 
searched  his  pocket  in  an  absent  manner  for  a  match 
to  relight  his  pipe,  which  had  expired  for  lack  of 
nursing.  Not  finding  one,  he  rose  to  his  feet  with 
something  between  a  yawn  and  a  sigh. 

"  What  kind  of  a  night  did  you  have,  Joe?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Rotten,"  said  Joe.  He  laid  his  paper  across 
his  knees  and  looked  up.  "  Stung  for  all  I  had," 
he  added. 

"Broke?" 

Joe  nodded  gloomily.  "  Serves  me  right,"  he 
said.  "  I  should  have  gone  into  moving  pictures 
when  I  had  the  chance." 

"  You  seem  to  be  running  in  hard  luck  lately," 
171 


172  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

commented  Merkle.  "  What's  the  matter  with  the 
show  business,  anyway?  " 

Joe  rallied.  "  If  I  knew,"  he  said,  with  a  he- 
roic attempt  at  his  usual  jesting  manner,  "  I'd  sell 
out  to  the  syndicate." 

Neither  man  smiled.  Merkle  began  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him, 
his  eyes  on  the  floor.  An  excursion  longer  than 
usual  brought  one  of  Tom's  slippers  into  his  field 
of  vision.  He  halted  and  looked  at  it,  then  at  the 
trunk  by  the  window. 

"Who's  sleeping  here  to-night?"  he  asked. 

"  Wilson." 

"Does  he  know  it?" 

"  She  handed  him  the  big  news  at  dinner,"  said 
Joe.  "Likewise  a  P.  S.  to  the  effect  that,  if  he 
didn't  come  across  with  a  little  loose  change  to- 
night, she'd  have  to  slip  him  the  raspberry." 
"  Too  bad,"  he  added,  after  a  sympathetic  pause. 
"  Seems  a  nice  young  fellow,  but  he's  in  wrong." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"  Figure  it  out  for  yourself,"  said  Joe,  with  a 
lift  of  palms  and  eyebrows.  "  Kid  from  the 
country,  small  salary,  chasing  around  with  a  dame 
who  puts  herself  away  for  a  Broadway  queen." 
He  picked  up  his  paper.  "  Don't  think  there's 
anything  wrong,  myself,"  he  said,  "  but  ever  since 
the  night  his  friends  called  on  him,  he's  been  a 
different  fellow." 


FRIDAY,  THE  THIRTEENTH       173 

"What  night  was  that?" 

"The  night  LeRoy  blew  in  with  the  soup  and 
fish.  Don't  you  remember?  About  three  weeks 
ago.  The  girl  from  his  home  town — " 

Merkle's  face  lighted.  "Oh,  yes,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully. 

"  She  must  have  slipped  him  the  exit  sign,"  theo- 
rized Joe.  "  He's  probably  hanging  around  the 
corner  now  waiting  for  a  chance  to  sneak  in  without 
the  old  lady  seeing  him."  He  rose  suddenly  to  his 
feet.  "  Speaking  of  angels  — "  he  said. 

For  the  object  of  his  irreverent  characterization 
had  suddenly  thrown  open  the  door  and  swooped 
in  upon  them,  scarlet  with  rage.  The  giantess  was 
in  gaudy  evening  dress,  and,  to  judge  from  the 
amount  of  blood  visible  in  her  upper  works,  her 
heart  must  have  been  pumped  quite  dry.  Leitz 
trailed  behind  her. 

"  My  God,"  she  screamed,  in  tragic  accents. 
"  Every  burner  going  and  my  gas  bill  is  something 
awful."  She  reached  for  the  chandelier,  turning, 
as  she  did  so,  a  menacing  countenance  on  Weinstein 
and  Merkle.  "Who  is  responsible  for  this?"  she 
demanded. 

"  'Tain't  the  dinge's  fault,  Mother,"  said  Joe. 
"  I  told  her  I'd  fix  it  with  you." 

Mrs.  Bannan  did  not  desist  until  she  had  extin- 
guished every  burner  save  that  in  the  reading 
lamp.  What  with  her  wrath,  her  hurry  and  the 


i74  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

tightness  of  her  evening  gown,  she  was  puffing  pain- 
fully. 

"  I  can't  even  go  out  one  night  to  enjoy  myself 
without  getting  the  worst  of  it,"  she  complained, 
with  her  first  spare  breath.  "  And  I  get  so  few 
chances  to  see  a  little  life." 

"How'd  you  like  the  show?"  asked  Joe,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"  It  wasn't  bad,"  she  conceded.  ' 

Joe  winked  at  Merkle.  "  Thanks  for  them  kind 
words,"  he  said  gratefully.  But  Mrs.  Bannan  had 
more  glad  tidings  to  impart. 

"  Miss  LeRoy  hasn't  got  no  part  at  all,"  she  an- 
nounced with  an  air  of  great  satisfaction,  "  and  I 
didn't  see  one  dress  there  as  good  as  mine." 

Joe's  eyes  wandered  up  and  down  over  the  bil- 
lows of  striped  silk  which  encompassed  her. 
"  Who  made  your  dress?  "  he  asked,  "  The  Fuller 
Construction  Company?  "  Before  she  could  arrive 
at  his  meaning,  he  added  quickly:  "  Did  you  go  to 
supper?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  cried  with  enthusiasm,  "  Mr. 
Leitz  took  me  to  an  awful  swell  place.  We  went 
to  the  Madrid." 

"  Oh,"  said  Joe,  with  another  wink  at  Merkle, 
"  Leitzy's  always  there  with  that  highbrow  stuff." 
Mrs.  Bannan  turned  to  her  favorite. 

"  Run  downstairs  and  get  the  beer,  dearie,"  she 
said.  "  The  key  is  under  the  icebox."  Leitz  dis- 


FRIDAY,  THE  THIRTEENTH       175 

appeared  with  alacrity.  The  landlady  glanced 
around  the  room. 

"Ain't  Mr.  Wilson  come  in  yet?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"  Haven't  seen  him,"  said  Joe. 

"  Well,  if  you  do,  you  tell  him  not  to  go  to  bed 
without  letting  me  know,  because  I  want  to  see  him 
about  something  very  important."  She  turned  to 
the  door.  "  Don't  forget." 

"  We  won't,"  said  Weinstein. 

The  landlady  placed  her  hands  on  her  equator, 
one  on  either  side,  and  squeezed  mightily.  "  I  got 
to  go  and  make  myself  comfortable,"  said  she. 
"  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  Mother,"  said  Joe.  He  watched 
her  as  she  hoisted  herself  up  the  stairs  by  the  aid 
of  the  creaking  railing,  then  turned  to  Merkle,  who 
had  been  standing  aside  without  a  word. 

"Get  that  about  the  kid?"  he  asked. 

Merkle  nodded. 

"  I'd  stake  him  if  I  had  it,"  continued  Joe.  "  I 
guess  you  would  too." 

"  Sure,"  said  Merkle. 

They  both  turned  towards  the  door  as  Leitz  ap- 
peared from  below  with  his  arms  full  of  beer  bot- 
tles. The  barber  paused  with  a  grin  which  invited 
greedy  contemplation  of  his  burden,  then  continued 
on  up  the  stairs  to  the  landlady's  room. 

"  She's  sitting  up  for  him  all  right,''  said  Joe, 


176  THE  COUNTRY  BOY. 

taking  envious  note  of  the  number  of  the  bottles 
with  which  Mrs.  Bannan  would  while  away  the  time 
of  waiting.  He  returned  to  his  chair  and  his  Morn- 
ing Telegraph.  "  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  philo- 
sophic shrug,  "  it's  none  of  our  funeral,"  and  re- 
sumed his  study  of  the  "  dope."  Merkle  started 
for  his  bed  with  a  yawn.  "  Good  night,  Joe,"  he 
said. 

He  had  reached  the  door  and  placed  his  hand  on 
the  curtains,  when  a  sharp  rustle  of  Joe's  paper  and 
a  loud  exclamation  caused  him  to  look  back.  Joe 
was  sitting  bolt  upright  on  the  edge  of  his  chair 
and  staring  at  something  in  the  paper  as  if  he  could 
not  trust  his  eyes.  He  was  breathing  hard,  and 
the  hands  which  gripped  the  sheet  were  trembling 
with  sudden  excitement. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Merkle. 

Joe  did  not  seem  to  hear.  He  turned  the  page 
and  stared  at  the  other  side  with  equal  interest. 
Then  his  lips  moved  as  if  he  were  counting  to  him- 
self. Reassured,  apparently,  by  the  result  of  his 
calculations,  he  threw  down  the  paper,  dived  into 
his  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  few  crumpled  bills  and 
some  loose  change,  which  he  reckoned  up  with  care. 
He  shook  his  head  over  the  total  and  turned  sud- 
denly to  Merkle. 

"How  much  have  you  got?"  he  demanded. 

"  Money?  " 

Joe  nodded. 


FRIDAY,  THE  THIRTEENTH       177 

"  Not  much,"  said  Merkle,  ruefully. 

"Look!"  cried  Joe. 

Affected  despite  himself,  by  the  contagion  of 
[foe's  mysterious  excitement,  Merkle  probed  his 
pockets.  The  search  produced  a  total  of  twelve 
dollars  and  thirty-five  cents. 

Joe  held  out  his  hand.  "  Slip  it  to  me,"  he  said, 
eagerly. 

"What  for?" 

"  It's  a  hunch,"  exclaimed  Joe.  "  I've  been 
waiting  for  it  for  weeks,  and  it's  just  come." 

"  A  hunch,"  jeered  the  newspaper  man.  He 
smiled  the  pitying  smile  of  the  seasoned  gambler. 
"  What  kind  of  a  hunch?  "  he  asked. 

"  Thirteen,"  said  Joe. 

Merkle  stared  at  his  friend  as  if  he  feared  he 
were  losing  his  reason.  "Thirteen  what?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Just  the  number,"  said  Joe.  "  It's  been  star- 
ing me  in  the  face  all  night  and  I  didn't  see  it." 
He  thrust  the  paper  before  Merkle's  eyes  and 
pointed  to  the  title  line  at  the  top  of  the  page. 
"  Look,"  he  adjured  him.  "  It's  the  thirteenth, 
and  a  Friday." 

"  But  this  is  Thursday,"  Merkle  reminded 
him. 

"  Look  at  your  watch,"  cried  Weinstein. 

Just  to  convince  Joe  of  his  folly,  Merkle  pro- 
duced his  timepiece.  As  he  glanced  at  the  dial  a 


178  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

change  came  over  his  face.  He  held  it  up  for  Joe 
to  see. 

"  Thirteen  after  twelve,"  he  said,  with  a  thrill 
in  his  deep  voice  that  bespoke  a  sudden  excitement 
he  could  not  entirely  suppress. 

Joe  was  dancing  around  the  room  in  his  excite- 
ment. "  You  can't  beat  it,  I  tell  you,"  he  cried. 
"  I've  got  nine  and  a  half.  Your  twelve  thirty- 
five  makes  it  twenty  something.  I'll  put  it  all  on 
the  thirteen."  He  entered  upon  a  hasty  calcula- 
tion. "Thirty-five  times  twenty  makes  —  Gee!" 
he  broke  off,  "  it's  enough  to  start  a  moving  picture 
show,  and  I  know  the  dandiest  little  wheel  in  Forty- 
sixth  street." 

"  Roulette?  "  exclaimed  Merkle.  He  shoved  his 
wealth  back  into  his  pocket.  "  Not  with  my 
•money,"  he  said,  disdainfully. 

"  But,"  pleaded  Joe,  "  we  can  make  a  little  kill- 
ing with  that  money,  and — " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  interrupted  the  older  man,  with  a 
deprecating  lift  of  the  hand.  "  I  was  brought  up 
on  that  game." 

Joe  laid  beseeching  hands  upon  him.  "  Come  in 
while  the  hunch  is  warm,"  he  pleaded.  "  They 
never  fail,  and  this  one's  a  pipe." 

"  I'd  like  to,  Joe,"  said  Merkle,  "  but  it's  my 
last." 

"  Can't  get  far  on  twelve  bones,"  argued  Joe. 

"  More  than  a  week's  board,"  retorted  Merkle. 


FRIDAY,  THE  THIRTEENTH       179 

"  Paying  board  don't  get  you  anything,"  persisted 
Joe.  The  gambling  fever  had  seized  him  and  he 
would  not  be  denied.  "  Come  on,"  he  begged, 
"  take  a  chance." 

Merkle  wavered.  "  I'll  split  it,"  he  said,  will- 
ing to  humor  his  friend. 

Joe's  eyes  gleamed.  "  Don't  be  a  piker,"  he 
urged.  "  All  or  nothing." 

Merkle's  half-hearted  resistance  collapsed  at  the 
injurious  word.  After  all,  what  did  it  matter? 
Joe's  hunch  might  win.  He  had  known  hunches 
that  did.  And  — 

"  Oh,  well  — "  he  said,  and  dug  down  for  his 
money. 

Joe  gave  him  no  chance  to  change  his  mind.  He 
grabbed  the  stake  and  added  it  to  his  own. 
"That's  the  talk!"  he  cried,  enthusiastically. 
"  We'll  pull  off  the  biggest  win  of  the  year.  Just 
you  watch."  And  he  seized  his  hat  from  the  table 
and  sprang  for  the  door.  Merkle  stopped  him. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Joe,"  he  said. 

Joe  clutched  at  the  pocket  which  held  the  money 
in  sudden  alarm.  "  Don't  renig,"  he  cried. 

"  I'm  not  renigging,"  replied  Merkle.  He  en- 
tered his  room  and  returned  in  a  moment  with  some- 
thing in  his  hand  which  he  extended  to  Joe. 

"  Here's  another  dime,"  he  said. 

Joe  seized  the  coin.  "  Fine,"  he  cried,  admir- 
ingly- Joe  loved  a  real  sport  when  he  saw  him. 


i8o  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Merkle's  eyes  were  sparkling  with  an  unwonted 
lustre,  but  he  affected  an  exaggerated  concern  as 
he  saw  Joe  pocket  his  last  visible  means  of  support. 

"  If  you  don't  win,  God  help  you,"  he  said,  with 
mock  solemnity. 

As  Joe  darted  into  the  hall,  he  almost  ran  over 
Tom  Wilson  in  the  darkness.  "  Hello,  kid,"  he 
cried.  "  See  you  in  a  little  while,"  and  slammed 
the  front  door  without  waiting  to  apologize. 

Tom,  surprised  at  his  abruptness,  stopped  in  the 
doorway  and  started  down  the  hall. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Joe?"  he  asked. 

With  Joe's  departure,  Merkle's  enthusiasm  had 
suddenly  gone  dead. 

"  Nothing,"  he  growled,  with  a  gesture  of  dis- 
gust. "  Just  a  hunch." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MERKLE   MAKES   CONVERSATION 

TOM  closed  the  'door  behind  him  and  looked 
around  the  room  as  if  in  search  of  something. 

"  Thought  I  was  to  sleep  here  to-night,"  he  said. 

"  .You'll  find  all  your  stuff  around  here,"  replied 
Merkle,  busy  at  a  writing  desk  in  the  corner. 

"Why  not  have  some  light?"  demanded  Tom, 
and  went  to  work  on  the  chandelier,  unaware  that 
it  was  the  third  illegal  illumination  of  the  evening 
that  he  was  producing.  Merkle  meantime  had 
found  what  he  was  after,  a  'day-by-day  desk  calen- 
dar. He  rapidly  tore  off  the  top  sheets  till  he  had 
brought  it  up  ro  date,  then  penciling  a  heavy  black 
circle  around  the  number  13,  he  propped  the  calen- 
dar up  on  top  of  the  desk,  walked  to  the  center  of 
the  room  and,  his  hands  in  his  empty  pockets,  a 
whimsical  smile  on  his  face,  turned  to  observe  the 
effect.  Tom,  not  understanding  what  this  strange 
conduct  might  mean  and  too  listless  to  inquire,  ap- 
proached his  trunk  and  gazed  ruefully  at  his  scat- 
tered belongings. 

"  Wouldn't  you  think  she'd  have  given  me  a 
chance  to  pack  my  own  things?  "  he  said,  as  much  to 
himself  as  to  his  companion. 

181 


i82  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

His  words  reminded  Merkle  of  something. 
"  Old  lady  said  she  wanted  to  see  you  to-night,"  he 
said  to  Tom. 

"  Guess  I  know  what  she  wants,"  replied  the 
youth,  as  he  set  to  work  to  collect  his  things. 

"Anything  doing?"  queried  Merkle. 

"  She'll  be  disappointed,"  said  Tom. 

"  Too  bad,"  muttered  Merkle.  He  seated  him- 
self beside  the  reading  table  and  watched  Tom 
keenly  for  a  short  while.  ".Your  third  change, 
isn't  it?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  Fifth,"  said  Tom,  working  away.  "  From  the 
fourth  story  back,  all  the  way  to  the  parlor.  This 
is  the  last  stop  before  hitting  the  sidewalk."  He 
stood  up  and  grinned  at  Merkle.  "That's  some- 
thing to  be  thankful  for,"  he  said. 

Merkle  grunted  his  assent,  but  said  nothing, 
though  he  liked  the  way  Tom  was  taking  it.  It  was 
all  bluff,  he  knew,  but  Merkle  liked  a  good,  game 
bluff  above  all  things.  From  among  the  articles 
piled  on  the  lid  of  his  trunk,  Tom  extracted  a  bun- 
dle of  photographs  which  he  threw  on  the  table 
near  Merkle.  Then  he  squirmed  out  of  his  coat 
and  into  his  dressing  gown  and  proceeded  to  arrange 
his  toilet  articles,  making  the  top  of  his  trunk  do 
duty  as  a  dressing  table.  Finally  he  retrieved  his 
slippers,  seated  himself  in  the  chair  on  the  other  side 
of  the  reading  table,  and  began  slowly  to  unlace  his 
shoes. 


MERKLE  MAKES  CONFERSATION       183 

"Where  did  you  go  to-night?"  asked  Merkle, 
who,  for  some  reason  of  his  own,  seemed  desirous 
of  luring  Tom  into  conversation. 

"  Down  town,"  replied  Tom  absently. 

"  What  did  you  see?     Anything?  " 

"  Didn't  go  to  a  show,"  replied  Tom.  "  Just 
watched  the  crowds  along  Broadway." 

Merkle  had  done  the  same  thing  under  much  the 
same  circumstances  and  was  therefore  well  able  to 
imagine  just  what  sort  of  a  bitterly  lonesome  even- 
ing Tom  must  have  spent  among  the  gay  throngs 
that  scatter  their  foolish  money  up  and  down  the 
Great  White  Way  at  night.  But  he  was  too  wise  to 
offer  sympathy  to  Tom  in  the  youth's  present  state 
of  mind. 

"Great  sight,  isn't  it?"  was  all  he  said.  He 
picked  up  one  of  the  photographs  that  Tom  had 
placed  on  the  table  and  looked  at  it  with  interest. 

"  This  your  home?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom.     "  Our  cottage  in  Fairview." 

Merkle  put  the  photograph  back  on  the  heap. 
"  Nice  looking  house,"  he  said.  "  Who's  living 
there  now?  " 

"  Just  my  mother." 

"Um-m-m."  Merkle's  voice  lingered  long  on 
the  vocable.  "Only  you  two  in  the  family?"  he 
drawled. 

There  was  something  in  this  speech  that  made 
Tom  glance  up  quickly.  It  wasn't  disapproval  ex- 


1 84  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

actly,  it  was  too  impersonal  for  that.  It  was  rather 
a  note  of  mild  wonder,  but  it  made  Tom  feel  that 
he  was  somehow  on  the  defensive  in  Merkle's 
thoughts,  whatever  those  might  be.  Tom,  who  was 
not  in  a  mood  to  endure  criticism  to-night,  gazed 
sharply  at  the  newspaper  man,  but  Merkle's  eyes 
were  fixed  vacantly  on  the  wall  opposite,  and  his 
face  was  bare  of  any  definite  expression.  Tom  re- 
turned to  his  struggle  with  a  refractory  knot  in  his 
shoestring. 

"  That's  all,"  he  answered  quietly,  but  his  im- 
patience found  vent  in  a  quick  tug  that  snapped  the 
string.  He  examined  the  pieces  carefully.  They 
had  been  knotted  several  times,  and  it  was  a  grave 
question  what  he  should  do  for  another  string. 
Merkle's  voice  distracted  his  attention  from  this  im- 
portant economic  problem. 

"  Wish  I  had  a  home  like  that,"  the  newspaper 
man  was  saying.  There  was  a  wistful  note  in  his 
deep  voice  that  Tom  had  never  heard  there  before. 
He  would  hardly  have  believed  that  Merkle  was 
capable  of  emitting  such  a  note.  He  gazed,  curi- 
ously this  time,  at  his  cantankerous  friend.  Merkle 
had  slumped  back  in  his  chair,  like  a  man  thoroughly 
wearied.  He  was  still  gazing  fixedly  before  him, 
but  his  eyes  were  focused  in  a  far  away  stare,  as 
though  he  were  looking  right  through  the  wall  to 
something  beyond  from  which  he  was  unwilling  to 
withdraw  them.  The  shoe  slipped  from  Tom's 


MERKLE  MAKES  CONVERSATION       185 

hand  and  fell  to  the  floor  with  an  echoing  crash. 
Merkle  did  not  stir. 

"What  would  you  do  with  it?"  Tom  asked  at 
last.  The  silence  was  getting  on  his  nerves. 

Merkle  came  out  of  his  trance  with  a  sharp 
shake  of  his  head,  like  that  which  a  fighter  gives 
to  clear  his  brain  from  the  dizzying  effect  of  a 
blow. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  with  a  return 
to  his  usual  harsh  tones.  Then,  as  if  feeling  that 
Tom's  question,  having  naturally  grown  out  of  his 
own,  was  entitled  to  something  further  in  the  way 
of  reply,  he  added:  "But  it's  mighty  fine  to  have 
some  place  to  go  to  when  things  aren't  breaking 
right." 

Tom  picked  up  the  photograph  in  his  turn,  but 
threw  it  down  again  after  a  hasty  glance.  "  I'm 
not  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  appreciate  anything  to- 
night," he  said,  as  if  he  rather  resented  Merkle's 
ability  to  do  so  under  the  borrowed  inspiration  of 
another  man's  photograph. 

Merkle  eyed  him  for  a  moment.  "  Anything 
gone  wrong?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  Tom.  "  Just  depressed,"  and  he 
shut  his  jaws  secretively. 

"  That's  a  rotten  feeling,"  said  Merkle.  Some- 
how he  made  Tom  feel  that  he  was  speaking  out  of 
the  fullness  of  experience.  "What  kind  of  work 
are  you  after?"  he  asked  suddenly. 


186  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Anything  that  will  keep  me  going  for  a  while," 
said  Tom.  "  Know  of  anything?  " 

"  Ever  try  journalism?  "  inquired  Merkle. 

"  Once  —  for  a  Buffalo  paper." 

"  I  said  JOURNALISM."  Merkle,  metropolitan 
to  the  core  of  his  newspaper  soul,  shot  forth  the 
word  with  scornful  emphasis. 

"  I'd  last  about  two  minutes,"  said  Tom,  hope- 
lessly. 

"  Never  can  tell,"  said  Merkle.  "  Some  awful 
dubs  get  away  with  it  in  this  town,"  he  added,  with 
a  bitterness  that  had  in  it  the  concentrated  essence 
of  the  disappointments  of  years.  Tom  was  too 
much  engrossed  with  his  own  troubles  to  notice,  for 
which  Merkle,  suddenly  bethinking  himself,  was 
grateful.  He  seldom  let  himself  go  so  far. 

"  I'm  willing  to  try  anything  with  a  salary  at- 
tached," Tom  was  saying. 

"  Well,"  said  Merkle,  "  we'll  see  what  we  can 
do."  Tom  shoved  his  feet  into  his  slippers,  picked 
up  his  shoes,  and  rose  with  a  stifled  yawn. 

"  See  Miss  LeRoy  to-night?  "  asked  Merkle  sud- 
denly. 

"  No,"  replied  Tom  with  apparent  indifference. 
"  I  called  at  the  theater  to-night,  but  she  had  gone." 

"  Oh,"  said  Merkle. 

Tom  yawned  again,  ostentatiously  this  time. 
"  If  the  old  lady  wants  to  see  me  to-night,  she'd 
better  call  quick,"  he  observed. 


MERKLE  MAKES  CONVERSATION       187 

The  newspaper  man  ignored  the  hint.  Instead 
of  taking  himself  off,  he  settled  himself  more  com- 
fortably in  his  chair.  "  She'll  be  along  as  soon  as 
she  gets  her  theater  rags  off,"  he  said.  "  She  saw 
the  show  to-night,"  he  added,  with  another  rapid 
glance  at  Tom. 

"  Did  she?  "  asked  Tom,  turning  away  carelessly. 

"Yes,"  said  Merkle.  He  waited  for  a  moment 
for  Tom  to  ask  questions,  but  Tom,  divining  his 
purpose,  would  not  ask.  Merkle  got  up. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  her,  kid,"  he  said. 

"About  whom?" 

"  Miss  LeRoy." 

Tom  turned  quickly,  but  Merkle  went  on  more 
quickly  still,  shutting  off  the  youth's  attempts  to  in- 
terrupt him.  "  Now  wait  a  minute,  son,"  he  said. 
"  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  No,  I  know 
it's  none  of  my  business.  But  I'm  a  bit  older  than 
you  and  I've  seen  a  lot  more  of  the  world  than  you 
have,  so  don't  think  I'm  butting  in  just  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing."  Tom  was  silent  perforce.  "  You're 
up  against  a  hard  proposition  there,"  Merkle  con- 
tinued, "  and  I  want  to  help  you." 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  the  boy  as  though  in- 
viting his  confidence. 

"  I  appreciate  your  kindness,"  said  Torn  stiffly. 
"  But  I'm  not  in  need  of  any  help  at  present." 

"  Now  don't  get  sore,  son,"  said  Merkle,  placing 
his  hand  fatherwise  on  Tom's  shoulder.  "  You're 


i88  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

only  one  among  thousands  of  others  who  have  come 
down  here  to  this  city  with  a  heart  full  of  love  and 
sympathy  for  everybody  in  it,  only  to  have  it  knocked 
out  of  you  by  a  shallow,  fickle,  insincere  woman, 
and  this  woman  •—"  he  paused  and  his  hand  dropped 
to  his  side  — "  this  woman  isn't  worth  it." 

"  Stop  right  there,  Merkle,"  said  Tom  hotly,  then 
checked  himself.  Merkle's  friendly  candor  de- 
served something  better  than  an  angry  rebuff.  "  I 
don't  concede  your  right  to  advise  me  in  this  or  any 
other  matter."  He  stopped  again,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, at  the  hurt  look  in  his  friend's  eyes,  then  went 
on  again  in  a  different  tone. 

"  So  far  as  Miss  LeRoy  is  concerned,"  he  said, 
u  there  is  nothing  you  can  tell  me  that  I  do  not  al- 
ready know.  She's  been  unfortunate,  that's  all,  like 
a  lot  of  other  inexperienced  girls  that  come  to  the 
city,  but,  there  isn't  anything  in  her  life  that  she 
hasn't  told  me  of  herself." 

Merkle  stared  at  him.  "  She  told  you  herself?  " 
he  repeated. 

"  Everything,"  said  Tom,  emphatically.  "  And 
you  will  oblige  me  by  dropping  the  subject." 

Merkle  stood  looking  at  him  without  making  any 
reply.  There  were  possibilities  in  Tom's  declara- 
tion that  needed  turning  over  in  his  mind.  Did 
Tom  really  know  everything  —  about  Jimmy  Mi- 
chaelson,  for  instance?  Merkle  didn't  believe  it, 
didn't  want  to  believe  it,  at  any  rate.  It  was  be- 


MERKLE  MAKES  CONVERSATION       189 

yond  nature  that  a  girl  of  Amy  LeRoy's  type  should 
tell  everything,  was  his  harsh  reflection.  And  yet, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  His  shoulders  rose 
slightly  as  he  acknowledged  his  helplessness  to  him- 
self. 

"  That  lets  me  out,"  he  said,  half  aloud.  Then, 
to  Tom : 

"  I'm  sorry  I  offended  you,  old  man." 

"  I'm  not  offended,"  said  Tom,  "  only  annoyed. 
You've  simply  voiced  what  every  person  in  this 
house  has  been  thinking  for  weeks,  and  it's  unfair 
to  her." 

Merkle's  face  cleared  suddenly  at  Tom's  remark, 
and  he  extended  his  hand,  which  Tom  grasped  with- 
out being  able  to  imagine  just  what  had  moved 
Merkle  to  offer  it  at  this  particular  juncture. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  speak  of  it  again,"  he  said. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Merkle. 

There  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door  that 
opened  into  the  hallway.  They  both  faced  it  with 
an  expression  of  dismay. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  LETTER  FROM  HOME 

THE  knocking  was  repeated,  more  vigorously 
than  before.  The  landlady's  voice  added  it- 
self to  the  din.  Evidently  Mrs.  Bannan  was  in  no 
patient  mood. 

"You  in  there,  Mr.  Wilson?"  she  screamed 
through  the  panel. 

"  Just  a  minute,"  Tom  responded. 

"  I'll  get  out,"  said  Merkle,  with  a  guilty  grin 
at  the  flaring  gas  jets. 

He  walked  slowly  across  the  room  towards  his 
door,  but  stopped  and  turned  before  he  reached  it. 

"  Good  night,  son,"  he  said,  almost  tenderly. 
He  lingered  a  moment. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Tom.  The  newspaper  man 
withdrew.  Tom  followed  him  to  his  door  and 
drew  the  faded  green  portieres  closely  behind  him. 
Then  he  walked  over  to  the  reverberating  hall 
door,  squaring  his  shoulders  like  one  who  is  about 
to  repel  a  physical  assault. 

"  Come,"  he  said. 

The  door  flew  open.  The  glare  of  her  wasting 
gas  smote  the  huge  landlady  full  in  the  face.  For 
a  moment  she  stood  speechless  and  motionless  at 
190 


A  LETTER  FROM  HOME  191 

the  defiance  of  her  authority  which  this  illumina- 
tion signified.  Then  she  made  a  motion  towards 
Tom  as  if  to  lay  violent  hands  on  him. 

Fortunately  nothing  of  the  kind  happened. 
Help  came  to  Tom  from  an  unexpected  source  — 
the  chandelier,  which  he  had  rescued  from  darkness 
and  disuse.  A  sharp,  singing  note  fell  suddenly 
upon  the  landlady's  ear.  From  a  defective  burner 
a  hissing  stream  of  flame  shot  obliquely  towards 
the  ceiling.  Mrs.  Bannan  looked.  The  flame 
shortened  itself,  strove  to  resume  the  normal  square- 
cut  proportions  of  a  well  regulated  gas  jet,  struggled 
ineffectually  for  several  burning  seconds,  and  then 
flashed  out  again,  sharper  and  more  sibilant  than 
before. 

Mrs.  Bannan  forgot  all  about  Tom's  case  for  the 
moment.  All  her  horror  of  gas  men  and  gas  bills 
rose  to  the  surface  of  her  emotional  sea  at  the 
sight,  and  the  billows  of  her  wrath  smoothed  them- 
selves out  under  the  oleaginous  film  of  cupidity. 
With  three  great  strides  she  was  beneath  the 
chandelier  and  clutching  at  the  offending  jet.  She 
abolished  it,  then  turned  to  the  others.  When  she 
had  finished,  the  room  was  in  darkness,  save  for 
the  radiance  which  streamed  down  upon  the  floor 
from  the  green  shaded  reading  lamp. 

Perhaps  even  this  would  not  have  escaped,  save 
for  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Bannan  was  not  garbed  in  a 
manner  which  she  would  have  considered  proper  for 


i92  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

a  dark  room  containing  a  handsome  young  single 
gentleman.  She  had  divested  herself  of  the  gay 
habiliments  to  which  Merkle  had  referred  as  her 
"  theater  rags  "  and  now  stood  forth  in  a  single 
garment,  which  brought  to  her,  in  comfort,  more 
than  it  robbed  her  of,  in  elegance.  A  cotton  bath- 
robe, of  faded  blue,  enveloped  her.  It  was  secured 
with  a  string  about  her  massy  neck  and  fell  tar- 
paulin-like till  it  swept  the  floor.  It  was  one  of 
those  robes  that,  in  their  original  form  are  further 
secured  by  a  tasselled  rope  around  the  waist,  but 
Mrs.  Bannan  had  lost  or  discarded  this  useful  cinc- 
ture, and  made  shift  to  preserve  the  unities  by  put- 
ting a  hand  in  either  pocket  and  drawing  the  edges 
'  of  the  garment  together  with  the  leverage  which 
these  fulcrum  points  provided. 

As  she  turned  to  vent  her  delayed  wrath  on  Tom, 
the  landlady's  hands  suddenly  recollected  their 
duty  to  their  mistress  and  slid  into  place,  leaving 
her  tongue  to  do  battle  alone.  But  Mrs.  Bannan's 
wrath  ever  fell  suddenly  as  it  rose.  Then  too,  she 
rather  pitied  Tom,  who  had  always  treated  her  with 
friendly  deference,  even  in  his  flush  days,  and  the 
thought  that  she  was  now  obliged,  purely  for  busi- 
ness reasons  to  throw  him  out  into  the  street,  sof- 
tened her  heart.  When  she  spoke,  therefore,  it  was 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  I  was  out  to-night  myself," 


A  LETTER  FROM  HOME  193 

she  began.  "  A  nice  time  I'd  have  had  waiting  up 
for  you." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Tom.  The  landlady  eyed  him 
speculatively. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  again,  "  but  I  haven't  got 
anything  for  you,  Mrs.  Bannan." 

The  landlady  drew  one  hand  from  her  pocket 
with  modest  caution  and  held  something  out  to  Tom. 

"  Here's  a  letter,"  she  said.  "  It  came  after  you 
left.  Perhaps  it's  what  you've  been  waiting  for." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Tom.  He  took  the  letter 
over  to  the  reading  lamp  and  bent  down  to  examine 
the  handwriting.  He  stood  so  a  few  moments, 
while  the  landlady  waited.  He  straightened  up  at 
last,  and  faced  her  with  the  unopened  letter  in  hisi 
hand. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  going  to  help  me,"  he  said. 

"  From  home,  isn't  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Bannan. 

"  Yes.     From  my  mother." 

"  Better  open  it,"  she  suggested. 

"  I  will,  if  you'll  excuse  me,"  he  said,  and  bent 
over  the  lamp  again.  She  eyed  him  intently  as  he 
tore  open  the  flap  and  began  to  read.  She  saw  him 
start  violently,  almost  at  the  first  line,  then  a  bitter 
expression  twisted  his  features  and  the  letter  slipped 
from  his  hand  and  fluttered  to  the  floor.  His  jaw 
fell  and  he  gaped  stupidly  ahead  of  him  as  though; 
he  had  forgotten  her  presence. 


i94  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"Well?"  she  said  sharply. 

He  recovered  himself  with  a  shivering  intake  of 
the  breath. 

"  It's  —  it's  not  what  I  had  expected,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Didn't  she  send  you  anything?  "  demanded  the 
landlady. 

"  I  hadn't  asked  her  to  send  me  anything,"  re- 
plied Tom  huskily.  "  She  doesn't  know  anything 
about  it."  He  clutched  at  his  throat.  "  It's  about 
—  about  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  going  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

At  Tom's  first  words  the  landlady  had  moved 
forward  with  fresh  fires  kindling  in  her  eyes.  At 
the  evidences  of  his  distress,  she  relented. 

"  Then,  I'm  very  sorry,  Mr.  Wilson  — " 

"You  needn't  explain,  Mrs.  Bannan,"  Tom  in- 
terrupted quickly.  "  I  understand  perfectly.  You 
can't  afford  to  keep  me  here,  of  course.  You've 
been  very  good  to  keep  me  here  so  long.  I'll  be 
gone  in  the  morning." 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  retorted  Mrs.  Bannan, 
back  again  in  her  proper  role  of  landlady.  "  Very 
well,"  she  repeated.  "  But  where  do  I  get  off?" 

"  I'll  send  you  what  I  owe  you  some  day,"  said 
Tom.  The  landlady  gave  vent  to  a  scornful  "  Ha ! 
'Ha !  "  at  this  indefinite  assurance.  "  Meanwhile, 
I'll  leave  you  what  I  have.  This  watch  is  worth 
something  — " 


A  LETTER  FROM  HOME  195 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  an  old-fashioned  silver 
timepiece.  It  had  been  his  father's  watch,  and  Tom 
stood  for  a  moment  fumbling  it  before  he  handed  it 
over  to  Mrs.  Bannan.  She  started  to  slip  it  into 
her  pocket,  then  slowly  withdrew  her  hand  and 
looked  from  Tom  to  the  watch  and  back  again. 

"  I  hope  you  understand  my  position,  Mr.  Wil- 
son," said  the  landlady  in  a  tone  that  was  more 
nearly  apologetic  than  delinquent  boarder  had  ever 
heard  from  her  lips  before.  "  I  have  my  own  liv- 
ing to  make,"  she  went  on,  "  and  I've  been  stung 
before." 

"  I  have  no  one  but  myself  to  blame,  Mrs.  Ban- 
nan,"  said  Tom.  "  Thank  you  for  your  trouble." 

Still  hesitating,  the  landlady  turned  the  watch 
over  in  her  hand.  Tom  dully  wished  she'd  make 
an  end  of  it  and  leave  him  alone. 

"  Good  night,"  he  said,  curtly. 

The  landlady's  head  came  up  with  a  stiff  jerk. 
She  dropped  the  watch  into  her  pocket.  Then  her 
eye  sought  the  dark  corner  of  the  room  where  Tom's 
trunk  stood. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  leave  your  things  for  secu- 
rity," she  said. 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied,  moving  towards  the 
door. 

"  Good  night,"  said  the  landlady,  and  stalked 
out. 

Tom  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  her.     He 


196  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

stood  leaning  there  for  a  while,  his  hand  still  on 
the  knob  and  a  dazed  look  in  his  eyes  as  if  he  did 
not  know  which  way  to  turn.  The  noise  of  a  wagon 
clattering  along  the  stony  street  roused  him  from 
his  reflections,  and  he  walked  slowly  into  the  room, 
rubbing  his  head  between  his  hands  as  if  to  dispel 
by  friction  the  strange  mental  dizziness  that  pos- 
sessed him.  His  eye  fell  on  the  letter,  where  it  lay 
just  on  the  edge  of  the  sharp  circle  of  light  cast  by 
the  reading  lamp  upon  the  floor. 

He  seized  it  convulsively,  spread  it  out  on  the 
table  and  began  to  read,  mumbling  the  sentences 
aloud  and  listening  to  his  own  voice  as  though  the 
assurance  of  the  written  characters  alone  were  not 
sufficiently  convincing.  Suddenly  he  broke  off,  flung 
himself  into  a  chair,  dropped  his  head  on  his  hands, 
and  gazed  dully  at  the  carpet. 

For  a  long  time  he  did  not  stir.  Finally  he  took 
up  the  letter,  read  it  through,  put  it  back  on  the 
table,  and  rose  wearily  to  his  feet.  Then,  with  an 
automatic  gesture,  he  felt  for  his  watch. 

The  mild  shock  of  finding  his  pocket  empty  was 
enough  to  bring  Tom  back  to  a  sense  of  his  sur- 
roundings, and  he  began  to  make  preparations  for 
what  must  be  his  last  night  in  the  Bannan  boarding 
house.  He  walked  over  to  the  folding  bed,  pulled 
it  down  and  began,  in  orthodox  house  wife  fashion, 
to  pat  the  flattened  pillows  into  a  semblance  of 
downy  fullness.  Before  he  had  completed  his  task 


A  LETTER  FROM  HOME  197 

he  fell  into  another  abstracted  fit,  and,  holding  a 
pillow  in  his  hands,  sank  into  a  sitting  posture  upon 
the  edge  of  the  bed. 

A  sudden  rattling  of  the  doorknob  brought  him 
to  his  feet.  Then  the  door  was  opened  cautiously 
and  Amy  LeRoy  peered  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TOM  ASKS   QUESTIONS 

,"  said  Amy,  "  I  didn't  know  that  you 
were  in  here,"  and  she  made  a  motion  to 
withdraw.  Tom  stopped  her. 

"  I've  been  hoping  you'd  come,"  he  said. 
"  .Come  in.  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Amy  entered  and  pushed  the  door  shut  behind 
her,  but  kept  her  hand'-on  the  knob. 

"  I  can't  come  in  now."  She  leaned  forward 
and  her  voice  dropped  to  a  loud  whisper.  "  Mr. 
Michaelson  is  with  me,"  she  explained. 

"Who?"  asked  Tom. 

"  Jimmy  Michaelson,"  lisped  the  girl.  "  I  didn't 
know  the  parlor  was  occupied.  I  was  going  to 
bring  him  in." 

"What  for?"  demanded  Tom. 

"  He  wants  to  say  good  night  to  me,"  replied 
Amy. 

"  I  see,"  said  Tom,  after  a  slight  pause.  He 
eyed  her  curiously. 

"  I  can't  keep  him  in  the  hall,"  said  the  girl  petu- 
lantly. "  It's  so  public." 

Tom  transferred  his  gaze  to  the  pillow,  which,  he 
198 


TOM  ASKS  QUESTIONS  199 

suddenly  noticed,  he  was  still  holding  in  his  hand. 
He  flung  it  down  impatiently  on  the  bed. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  inconvenience  Mr.  Michaelson,"  he 
said  at  last,  "  but  I  can't  go  out  into  the  street  in  this 
dress.  Better  say  good  night  to  him,  then  come 
back." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  come  back,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  in 
tones  of  horrified  protest.  "  Do  you  know  what 
time  it  is  ?  I'll  see  you  in  the  morning." 

"  Better  make  it  to-night,  Amy,"  said  Tom.  "  I 
may  not  be  here  in  the  morning." 

She  looked  around  the  room.  Her  glance  took 
in  the  open  bed,  the  trunk  in  the  window  corner. 

"Are  you  going  away?"  she  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Bannan  thinks  I  ought  to,"  replied  Tom, 
with  a  wry  smile.  "  Tell  Michaelson  good  night 
and  come  back,"  he  repeated. 

Amy  considered.  "  I  know  perfectly  well  I 
ought  not  to  be  in  a  gentleman's  room  at  this  time 
of  night,"  she  said,  with  an  affectation  of  girlish  sa- 
pience. "But — "  she  sighed  profoundly — "you 
have  such  an  influence  over  me." 

She  went  out  and  Tom  turned  to  pick  up  his  let- 
ter and  photographs.  Something  he  heard  in  the 
hall  caused  him  to  stop  suddenly  and  shoot  a  glance 
of  savage  inquiry  towards  the  closed  door.  There 
was  a  rustling  of  silk,  a  slight  scraping  of  feet,  then 
a  smothered  "  Oh,  you  mustn't,"  repeated  after  an 
instant,  more  feebly.  A  short  silence  and  then  the 


200  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

street  door  slammed  and  someone  passed  under  the 
windows  whistling  a  light  air. 

After  a  moment,  Amy  appeared.  She  looked 
rather  anxiously  at  Tom,  who  was  facing  the  door 
with  a  look  of  fierce  intentness  on  his  face,  then, 
throwing  the  door  wide  open,  she  sidled  past  him 
into  the  room. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  she  gurgled,  nervously.  "  He's 
got  to  go  away  up  town  all  alone."  Contemplation 
of  Jimmy's  enforced  loneliness  seemed  to  affect  her 
singularly.  "Ain't  it  too  bad?"  she  sighed. 

Tom's  reply  was  to  walk  to  the  door  and  close  it 
swiftly,  as  though  by  so  doing  he  were  shutting 
Jimmy  out  of  the  conversation.  The  girl  sprang 
towards  him. 

"  Don't  close  the  door,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  left 
it  open  on  purpose.  Haven't  you  any  regard  for 
my  reputation?  " 

Her  voice  rose  at  the  last  in  indignant  appeal. 
Tom  regarded  her  coldly. 

"  I  don't  think  your  reputation  is  in  any  danger," 
he  said.  "  Sit  down." 

Amy's  fears  for  her  reputation  were  easily  dis- 
pelled it  seemed.  "  My,  but  you're  getting  awfully 
bossy,"  she  pouted.  She  sauntered  over  towards 
the  curtained  door  and  pointed. 

"  Who's  in  there?  "  she  asked,  lowering  her  voice 
to  a  confidential  whisper. 

"  Mr.  Merkle  has  that  room,"  he  told  her. 


TOM  ASKS  QUESTIONS  201 

Amy  drew  her  pretty  features  into  the  daintiest 
of  grimaces. 

"  Nasty  thing,"  she  said.  "  He's  so  sore  on  him- 
self you  can  hear  him  crack  every  time  he  smiles." 

"  Sit  down,  Amy,"  said  Tom,  peremptorily.  "  I 
have  something  serious  to  say  to  you." 

Amy  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  a  big  chair, 
hitched  it  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  illuminated 
circle  on  the  floor,  crossed  her  silken  ankles  at 
an  attractive  angle,  and  admired  the  tips  of  her 
smart  pumps  while  she  waited  for  Tom  to 
speak.  He  hesitated,  not  knowing  just  how  to 
begin. 

"  I  suppose  you're  going  to  scold  me  again,"  she 
whimpered,  after  the  fashion  of  a  well  rehearsed 
child  actress  about  to  undergo  the  rebuke  of  a  be- 
loved elder.  "  Oh,  well,"  resignedly,  "  get  it  over 
with." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  scold,"  said  Tom.  "  I  only 
want  to  ask  a  question  or  two." 

Amy  yawned  delicately  behind  her  hand. 
"  Hurry  up,  then,"  she  said,  "  'cause  I'm  tired  and 
sleepy." 

"  I  won't  keep  you  any  longer  than  is  necessary," 
said  Tom.  "  This  is  probably  the  last  chance  I'll 
have  for  a  while,"  he  explained,  "  and  I  want  to  get 
some  things  straight." 

"  Needn't  look  at  me  as  if  I'd  done  something," 
protested  the  girl,  disquieted  by  the  earnestness 


202  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

with  which  he  spoke.  "What  is  it?"  she  asked 
abruptly. 

Tom  came  closer  and  looked  down  into  her  face. 
"  Amy,"  he  said,  "  why  did  you  lead  me  to  think 
you  cared  for  me?  " 

She  turned  her  baby  blue  eyes  up  to  meet  his. 
"  I  do  care  for  you,"  she  said  rather  uneasily. 

"  No,  no.     Seriously,"  he  insisted. 

"  Honest  I  do,"  she  protested.  Her  eyes  ca- 
ressed him  with  shy  intimacy  —  a  discreet  display 
which  she  had  always  found  effective.  She  grasped 
his  hand  and  tried  to  bring  his  face  down  to  a  level 
with  her  own.  "  I  think  an  awful  lot  of  you,"  she 
murmured. 

Tom  was  unmoved  by  her  little  coquetries.  He 
stood  stubbornly  erect.  "  How  about  Michael- 
son?  "  he  demanded. 

"  O-ho!  "  said  the  girl  to  herself.  "  Jealous!  " 
She  felt  vastly  relieved.  This  was  too  easy.  She 
could  proceed  now  with  all  the  certainty  of  experi- 
ence. 

"  I  care  for  him,  too,"  she  said,  "  but  not  in  the 
same  way." 

"  A  woman  can't  care  for  two  men  at  the  same 
time." 

The  blue  eyes  filled  with  wonder  at  this  mascu- 
line unreasonableness.  "Why  can't  she?"  de- 
manded the  girl.  "  I  know  lots  of  men  that  love: 
more  than  one  woman." 


TOM  ASKS  QUESTIONS  203 

Tom  gazed  at  her  with  astonishment.  It  was 
something  of  a  shock  to  hear  such  sentiments  from 
lips  so  girlish.  He  wondered  if  she  realized  all 
that  her  words  might  suggest.  She  sat  looking  at 
him  as  if  she  had  advanced  an  unanswerable  argu- 
ment. 

"  That's  different,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Some  men 
are  —  animals." 

Amy's  hands  fell  together  in  her  lap  with  limp 
and  patient  resignation. 

"  My,"  she  sighed,  "  you  were  such  a  sweet  boy 
when  you  first  came  from  the  country.  Now,  you're 
just  like  the  others." 

Tom  returned  to  the  question.  "  You  haven't 
answered  me,"  he  reminded  her.  "  Why  did  you 
let  me  think  you  loved  me?"  She  tried  to  rise 
from  her  chair,  with  some  notion  of  escaping  to 
her  room  and  leaving  him  to  answer  the  question  for 
himself,  but  his  hand,  lightly  laid  on  her  shoulder, 
restrained  her. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  said,  "  I'm  not  squealing.  It's 
only  that  I  don't  understand  and  want  to  be  put 
straight.  Why  did  you  let  me  think  so  ?  " 

The  girl  was  silent.  It  wasn't  so  easy  as  she  had 
thought. 

"  Why?  "  he  repeated,  peremptorily.  "  I  hadn't 
any  money,  any  position,  anything  that  appeals  to  a 
mercenary  nature.  I  was  absolutely  frank  with  you 
and  I  thought  you  were  with  me." 


204  THE  COUNTRY  BOY, 

He  stepped  back.  Amy  had  produced  a  hand- 
kerchief and  was  making  rapid  little  dabs  at  her 
eyes. 

"  I  knew  you  were  going  to  say  something  like 
that,"  she  said,  chokingly.  "  I'm  always  being  mis- 
understood." 

"  I'm  not  reproaching  you,  Amy,"  said  Tom 
soothingly. 

"  You  said  I  was  mercenary,"  wept  the  girl. 
"  That  I  wasn't  frank  with  you." 

"  I've  said  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Tom,  his 
voice  hardening  a  trifle.  "  You  wilfully  misunder- 
stand me." 

"  I've  told  you  everything  there  was  to  know," 
she  sobbed,  "  and  that  is  what  very  few  girls  would 
have  done.  I  never  kept  anything  back.  I  even 
let  myself  get  talked  about  on  your  account,  and  this 
is  all  I  get  for  it." 

And,  affected  to  genuine  tears  by  her  own  recital 
of  her  grievances,  she  flung  herself  around  in  the  big 
chair  and  wept  into  its  upholstered  back.  Tom 
stood  for  a  while  uncomfortably  watching  her  heav- 
ing shoulders.  Then  he  sank  into  another  chair 
and  waited. 

"  I  think  I've  shown  my  appreciation,"  he  said, 
when  her  agitation  seemed  to  have  subsided.  "  I 
did  all  that  I  could.  I  thought  you  were  satisfied." 

Amy  wheeled  around.  "  Well,"  she  retorted, 
"  you  haven't  heard  me  kick." 


TOM  ASKS  QUESTIONS  205 

"  Actions  speak  louder  than  words,"  said  Tom. 
He  thought  of  the  smothered  noises  out  in  the  hall. 
"  There  is  Mr.  Michaelson,"  he  reminded  her. 

Amy  bounced  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed  angrily,  "  I  suppose  you 
think—" 

"  I  don't  want  to  think,"  interrupted  Tom,  who 
had  quickly  risen  to  face  her.  "  I  don't  want  to 
believe  anything  of  you  that  isn't  right.  That's 
why  I'm  asking  these  questions." 

She  looked  at  him  imploringly,  but  her  eyes 
seemed  to  have  lost  their  power  to  charm.  His 
countenance  was  set  and  stern.  Her  own  face  grew 
hard,  as  if  some  spiteful  decision  had  suddenly  been 
recorded  there.  If  Tom  insisted  on  asking  ques- 
tions, well  —  he  stood  in  a  fair  way  of  being  en- 
lightened. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  say?"  she  asked 
sharply. 

"  If  you  don't  know  " —  he  hesitated,  seeking 
terms  which  should  not  seem  too  harsh  — "  If  you 
don't  know,  I  can't  prompt  you.  But  I  want  you 
to  recall  our  agreement.  You  said  people  were 
talking  about  you  because  we  were  going  so  much 
together,  and  = —  I  asked  you  to  marry  me.  I 
didn't  pretend  to  love  you.  I  told  you  all  about 
myself  and  the  " —  he  faltered  again  — "  about  the 
girl  who  didn't  believe  in  me.  And  you  said  you'd 
stick  to  me  and  be  a  pal,  and  together  we'd  try  to 


206  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

succeed.  Well,  I  have  tried,  tried  awfully  hard, 
but  I  can't  succeed  without  sympathy  and  encour- 
agement." 

He  came  to  full  stop.  The  girl  was  following 
him  intently,  but  he  could  read  little  of  either  sym- 
pathy or  encouragement  in  her  eyes.  She  was  sim- 
ply waiting. 

"  You've  made  me  feel  that  I  need  you.  That's 
jail,"  he  concluded. 

"  I  meant  what  I  said,  Tom,"  she  replied  stead- 
ily. "  But  a  girl  needs  lots  of  things  that  you  don't 
understand.  So  I  just  had  to  make  other  arrange- 
ments." 

"  Other  arrangements?  "  he  echoed. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  and  she  allowed  a  childish 
note  of  delighted  anticipation  to  creep  into  her 
voice.  "  I'm  going  to  move  into  a  beau-u-tiful 
apartment  on  Central  Park  West." 

Then  she  folded  her  arms  and  waited  for  the  ex- 
plosion. To  her  amazement,  her  announcement 
fell  flat. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  where  you  move,"  said  Tom 
quietly,  "  so  long  as  I  can  see  you." 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders  resentfully.  She 
might  have  been  spared  the  unpleasant  necessity  of 
going  into  bald  particulars. 

"That's  just  it,"  she  said,  tentatively.  "You 
can't  see  me." 

"Why  not?" 


TOM  ASKS  QUESTIONS  207 

"  Because  " —  she  spoke  each  word  with  the  cold 
incisiveness  which  such  stupidity  merited  — "  Be- 
cause Jimmy  won't  allow  me  to  have  any  gentlemen 
visitors." 

"  Jimmy !  "  cried  Tom.  He  stared  at  her  for  a 
moment  as  if  he  sought  to  catch  her  meaning  and  it 
were  just  eluding  his  grasp.  Then,  as  the  full  im- 
port of  her  words  bit  into  his  brain,  a  look  of  dis- 
gust and  horror  stole  into  his  eyes  and  he  staggered 
back,  catching  at  the  air  like  a  man  struck  in  the 
face  and  stunned.  He  dropped  heavily  into  his 
chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"God!  "he  said. 

A  vague  expression,  this  last  —  a  term  with  as 
many  possibilities  of  interpretation  as  there  are  wise 
men  to  talk  and  fools  to  listen.  The  girl  did  not 
understand.  "  Jimmy " —  she  knew  him.  She 
smiled  slightly. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   GAS   ROUTE 

TAKING  the  "Jimmy"  end  of  it  alone  into 
account,  Tom's  behavior  was  indeed  ad- 
mirable. Certainly  it  was  tremendously  flattering 
to  the  "  broiler's  "  vanity.  Her  charms  had  never 
stirred  such  a  passion  before  and  she  was  willing, 
nay  eager,  to  confirm  this  pleasingly  jealous  lover 
in  the  undisturbed  possession  of  the  limited  share  of 
her  affections  that  she  reserved  for  sentimental 
traffic.  And  yet  —  there  had  been  something  in  his 
face,  which  had  not  entirely  escaped  her,  that  had 
puzzled  her  not  a  little;  something  she  didn't  ex- 
actly like,  that  made  her  smile  thin  and  wary  and 
kept  it  so.  Besides  Tom  wasn't  keeping  up  to  the 
mark.  After  the  single,  shuddering  outcry  that 
had  voiced  the  climax  of  his  despair,  he  had  re- 
mained silent  and  motionless,  his  face  hidden  in  his 
hands.  He  might  almost  be  thought  to  have  for- 
gotten her  presence. 

The  girl  stood  watching  him  intently.  It  was 
really  very  puzzling,  the  way  he  was  acting.  She 
had  expected  a  secondary  outburst  —  a  storm  of  an- 
gry words,  which  she  was  prepared  to  endure  gra- 
ciously, considering  the  provocation  —  a  blow  per- 


THE  GAS  ROUTE  209 

haps.  Even  that  token  of  overwrought  affection 
might  be  put  up  with,  if  not  dodged. 

But  this  strange  silence  perplexed  her,  was  get- 
ting on  her  nerves.  She  took  two  hesitating  steps 
towards  him.  He  seemed  to  stir  slightly  at  her  ap- 
proach as  if  he  were  about  to  look  up,  and  she  made 
little,  ineffectual  movements  with  her  outstretched 
arms,  coaxing  him  out  of  his  sullenness.  He  did 
not  see.  He  was  trembling  slightly,  and  his  face, 
what  she  could  see  of  it,  was  very  white. 

She  began  to  be  alarmed.  A  girl  she  knew,  a 
Broadway  "  broiler  "  like  herself,  had  been  shot  at 
a  few  days  before  by  a  desperate,  discarded  lover. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  get  out  of  this 
while  she  had  a  chance. 

She  threw  a  covert  glance  at  the  door  and  would 
have  made  a  rush  for  it  had  it  not  been  for  a  sudden 
panic  fright  that  left  her  legs  weak  and  trembling. 
She  began  to  sidle  towards  it,  on  tiptoe.  She  had 
gained  more  than  half  the  distance  when  Tom,  lifting 
his  head  and  instantly  divining  her  purpose,  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  barred  her  way. 

Tom  planted  his  foot  against  the  door.  The 
girl  clung  frantically  to  the  knob. 

"  Now  don't  be  mean,"  she  squealed,  her  voice 
thin  as  a  rat's  with  terror.  "  You  know  I  oughtn't 
to  be  here." 

"That  doesn't  come  well  from  a  woman  like 
you,"  said  Tom. 


210  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

He  spoke  bitterly,  but  with  a  calmness  that  reas- 
sured the  terrified  girl.  As  her  fears  subsided,  her 
temper  rose. 

"  I  won't  stay  and  listen  to  such  language,"  she 
cried  spitefully.  "  Better  let  me  out  or  I'll 
scream." 

She  was  almost  screaming  as  she  made  her  threat, 
but  Tom  did  not  budge.  A  flush  sprang  to  his  white 
face. 

"  Go  ahead  and  scream,"  he  challenged  her. 
11  Go  ahead.  Call  up  everybody  in  the  house,  and 
when  they  come  — " 

The  girl  was  shrinking  back  into  the  room,  fear- 
ful lest  Tom's  voice  so  near  the  door  should  carry 
through  the  house.  He  followed  her  step  by  step 
as  he  delivered  his  defiance. 

"When  they  come,  tell  them  the  truth.  Tell 
them  that  you  are  the  sort  of  woman  they  thought 
you.  Tell  them  how  you  duped  a  boy  from  the 
country  who  was  still  fool  enough  to  have  illusions 
about  women." 

"That  isn't  so,"  she  flashed  back.  "I  never 
fooled  you  about  anything.  It  isn't  my  fault,  if  you 
had  crazy  ideas  about  me." 

The  argument  struck  Tom.  It  put  the  thing  to 
him  in  a  new  light.  He  turned  her  words  over  in 
his  mind.  She  was  telling  the  truth,  as  she  saw  it. 
He  wanted  to  be  fair. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last.     "  It  wasn't  your  fault.     I 


'THE  GAS  ROUTE  211 

can't  blame  you  if  God  created  the  outward  features 
of  a  good  woman  and  forgot  to  put  in  the  soul." 

His  eyes  were  studying  the  girl  in  a  detached, 
impersonal  way  that  ruffled  her  vanity  more  than  his 
words. 

"  You've  got  an  awful  nerve  to  talk  to  me  like 
that,"  she  burst  forth. 

"  I'm  speaking  the  truth,"  replied  Tom,  turning 
away  from  her  with  a  weary  gesture,  "  and  that,  I 
fear,  is  more  than  you  can  understand." 

She  followed  him.  She  was  in  a  waspish  temper 
now,  eager  to  sting. 

"Is  that  so?"  she  snapped.  "I  understand  a 
good  deal  more  than  you  do,  Mr.  Wilson,  which 
isn't  so  much.  If  you  think  I'm  going  to  throw 
away  the  first  good  chance  I've  had  just  because  it 
doesn't  please  you  — "  she  ended  with  an  energetic 
sniff,  which  expressed  better  than  words  the  full 
measure  of  her  contempt. 

Her  scorn  was  wasted  upon  Tom,  it  seemed.  He 
heard  her  through  quietly,  his  eyes  fixed  in  a  fasci- 
nated stare  on  the  dimple  that  came  and  went  in  her 
soft  cheek  with  each  movement  of  her  lips.  Many 
times  before  he  had  watched  that  dimple,  twinkling 
coquettishly  into  sight  and  out  again,  as  though  chal- 
lenging the  eye  to  a  frolic  at  hide-and-seek.  But 
now  there  was  a  new  and  sinister  meaning  in  the 
game  it  played.  It  was  a  dimple  that  had  gained  a 
market  value  and  lost  its  soul. 


212  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

So  absorbed  was  the  youth  in  his  bitter  reflections, 
that,  of  all  she  had  said,  one  phrase  alone  arrested 
his  attention.  "  The  first  good  chance !  "  He  said 
the  words  over  slowly  to  himself,  analyzing  them. 
Then,  to  the  girl : 

"  That's  all  it  means  to  you  —  a  good  chance?  " 

There  was  a  sense  of  sickened  repugnance  in  his 
soul  that  he  could  not  suppress,  and  his  voice  rang 
with  bitter  disgust.  Not  for  the  girl  —  he  only 
wished  she'd  go  away  now  and  leave  him  alone  — 
but  for  the  poor,  vain,  self-sufficient  fool  that  had 
been  Tom  Wilson.  The  girl  did  not  understand 
that.  She  took  the  taunt  to  herself,  naturally 
enough,  and  she  answered  him  in  kind. 

"  It's  more  than  anything  you  ever  offered  me," 
she  jeered.  "  You  never  gave  me  anything.  You  " 
• —  the  contempt  in  her  tones  reached  the  saturation 
point  — "  you  hadn't  anything  to  give.  At  least 
you'll  do  me  that  credit.  I  never  took  anything 
from  you." 

"  You  took  nothing  from  me?  "  cried  Tom,  stung 
to  futile  resentment  by  her  stubborn  iteration. 
"  My  faith,  my  hope,  my  self-respect  —  is  all  that 
nothing?  " 

"  Doesn't  cost  anything,"  retorted  the  girl. 

"  I've  paid  the  biggest  possible  price  for  them," 
he  said. 

Amy  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders.  "  Oh,  well," 
she  said,  "  if  you're  going  to  talk  like  that — " 


THE  GAS  ROUTE  213 

Tom  realized  that  his  words  were  wasted. 
"What's  the  use?"  he  said.  "You  don't  under- 
stand. You  never  will.  You'll  go  on  to  the  end, 
looking  for  a  good  chance."  He  turned  and  walked 
over  to  his  trunk.  "  There's  nothing  keeping  you 
now,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder.  "  Run  along." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  biting  her  lips,  then 
stole  after  him  across  the  room. 

"Listen,  Tom,"  she  said,  in  wheedling  tones. 
"  It's  not  half  so  bad  as  you  try  to  make  it.  Per- 
haps we  can  manage  to  see  each  other  without 
Jimmy's  knowing  anything  about  it.  I  do  care  an 
awful  lot  for  you  in  spite  of  what  you've  said." 

He  would  not  even  turn  around  to  listen.  She 
laid  her  hand  caressingly  on  his  shoulder.  "  If 
you'll  just  be  reasonable,"  she  coaxed. 

Tom  shrank  aside  and  her  hand,  shaken  from  its 
resting  place,  fell  to  her  side. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  cried  the  girl,  sur- 
prised. 

"  You  said  you  wanted  to  go  to  your  room,"  he 
said.  "  Why  don't  you  go?  " 

She  flushed  angrily  at  this  ungracious  speech. 
She  had  put  herself  in  the  wrong  to  save  his  vanity, 
and  this  was  her  reward. 

"  I'm  going,"  she  snapped,  "  only  now  that  we've 
said  so  much,  we  may  as  well  finish  up."  She  paused 
for  a  moment  to  gather  emphasis.  "  I'm  glad 
we've  had  this  talk,"  she  went  on,  more  deliberately. 


2i4  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  It's  been  a  good  thing  for  both  of  us.  I'll  get 
what  I  want,  and  you  can  go  back  to  the  country 
and  marry  that  little  jay  you're  always  talking 
about.  She's  got  all  that  soul  stuff  that  you  seem 
to  want  so  badly." 

He  turned  upon  her  so  fiercely  that  she  shrank 
back  out  of  reach. 

"  Please  leave  Miss  Belknap  out  of  it,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  no  longer  concerned  in  her  affairs.  She's  to 
be  married." 

"  O-oh !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  her  face  illuminated 
with  sudden  understanding,  "  so  that's  what's  the 
matter  with  you.  You've  been  thinking  of  her  and 
taking  it  out  on  me."  She  regarded  him  with  ris- 
ing wrath.  "  Well,  you  certainly  have  your  nerve 
with  you.  And  me  wasting  all  this  sympathy  on 
you.  Good  night,  Mr.  Wilson." 

She  flounced  to  the  door  and  flung  herself  into 
the  hall,  then  turned  and  leaned  forward  to  look 
into  the  room.  Tom  was  standing  with  averted 
face,  just  as  she  had  left  him.  His  wooden  indif- 
ference enraged  her. 

"  For  all  I  care,"  she  cried  shrilly,  "  you  can  go 
straight  —  to  —  the  —  devil !  " 

Tom  heard  the  'door  close,  heard  her  steps  on 
the  stairs,  and  then  silence  settled  down  upon  the 
house.  For  a  long  while  he  did  not  stir.  He 
seemed  hardly  to  breathe.  His  eyes  were  fixed  in 
a  dull,  unseeing  stare,  and  he  stood  like  an  automa- 


THE  GAS  ROUTE  215 

ton  waiting  for  some  external  impulse  to  actuate  its 
mechanism.  After  a  time,  stimulated  to  a  sort  of 
reflex  activity  by  the  heat  and  closeness  of  the  room, 
he  moved  towards  the  window,  walking  like  a  man 
in  his  sleep.  He  drew  up  the  sash,  and,  as  the  out- 
side air  struck  his  face,  inhaled  deeply. 

His  eye  was  caught  and  held  by  a  string  of  col- 
ored lanterns  that  swung  gently  in  the  breeze  in  the 
beer  garden  across  the  street.  He  became  vaguely 
aware  that  the  orchestra  was  in  action  and  that  a 
waiter,  in  a  dinner  jacket,  was  singing  in  a  mellow 
fcaritone  voice  to  its  accompaniment.  The  scene 
swam  before  his  eyes  in  a  hazy,  far  away  fashion 
till  the  singer,  moving  about  on  the  little  platform, 
turned  on  his  heels  and  faced  him.  Perhaps  the 
man  saw  the  listless  figure  silhouetted  in  the  frame 
of  the  window,  for  he  stretched  forth  his  hands  as 
though  addressing  it,  and  the  refrain  he  was  singing 
came  to  Tom's  ears  with  sudden,  jarring  distinct- 
ness: 

"  Gee,  I  wish  that  I  had  a  girl." 

Tom  softly  closed  the  window  and  turned  away. 
The  words  had  set  his  numb  brain  going  again. 
His  sense  of  reality  became  instantly  acute,  and  he 
groaned.  It  was  precisely  what,  by  some  sub-con- 
scious effort,  he  had  been  struggling  to  avoid.  He 
did  not  want  to  think  —  least  of  all  of  Jane,  of  Fair- 
view,  the  world  from  which  he  had  irretrievably  cut 
himself  off.  And  for  what?  All  that  he  had 


2i6  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

dreamed  of  and  hoped  and  fought  for  had  come 
down  to  this. 

He  looked  about  him.  The  room  had  suddenly 
become  a  hateful  prison  to  him,  the  city  beyond  a 
vast,  hostile  camp,  whose  millions  hemmed  him  in 
from  the  open  country.  There  was  no  avenue  of 
escape.  He  was  every  way  entangled.  A  sense 
of  hopeless  exhaustion,  physical  and  moral,  weighed 
him  down.  He  had  used  the  last  ounce  of  his 
strength  and  had  failed.  His  dreaming  had  come 
to  an  end. 

He  roused  himself  at  last,  or  rather  the  force  of 
habit  asserted  itself,  when  his  eye,  idling  over  the 
floor,  lighted  upon  his  alarm  clock,  the  relentless 
monitor  of  his  mornings.  He  took  it  up  and,  walk- 
ing slowly  up  and  down,  began  to  wind.  He 
worked  mechanically,  making  long  pauses,  in  each 
of  which  he  fell  into  a  listening  attitude,  as  though 
he  heard  the  calling  of  distant  voices.  He  finished 
at  last,  adjusted  the  alarm,  and  went  forward  to  set 
the  clock  down  upon  the  little  table. 

Of  a  sudden  he  started  violently,  and  his  limbs 
became  bent  and  rigid  as  if  he  had  stumbled  upon  a 
snake.  His  mouth  opened  and  shut  spasmodically 
and  his  eyes  stared,  fascinated,  at  a  slender,  green 
thing  that  hung  from  the  chandelier,  the  flexible 
gas  tube  that  fed  the  reading  lamp  on  the  table. 
His  muscles  twitched  convulsively,  and  he  clutched 
the  clock  to  his  breast,  muffling  it  in  his  dressing 


THE  GAS  ROUTE  217 

gown,  as  if  it  might  escape  his  grasp  and  ring  out 
an  inopportune  alarm. 

With  a  supreme  effort  he  controlled  his  trem- 
bling limbs.  He  put  the  clock  down  softly  on  the 
table  and  then  his  hand  stole  out  cautiously  toward 
the  slightly  swaying  green  thing,  as  if  it  were  some- 
thing alive.  He  seized  it  swiftly  and  firmly,  and 
as  he  felt  it  safe  in  his  grasp,  his  face  hardened  into 
an  expression  of  resolute  decision.  With  rapid  ac- 
curate movements  he  turned  out  the  lamp,  reached 
up  and  detached  the  tube  from  the  chandelier,  and 
pulled  its  lower  end  loose  from  the  lamp.  He  car- 
ried it  across  the  room,  fastened  it  to  the  burner 
that  jutted  from  the  wall  beside  his  bed,  buried  the 
other  end  in  the  bed  clothes  and  stepped  back. 

It  was  a  new  tube,  still  stiff  in  its  original  wind- 
ings, and  when  he  released  it,  it  coiled  suddenly 
back  and  struck  at  him  like  a  serpent.  He  caught 
the  loose,  wriggling  end,  put  it  back  in  the  bed,  and 
weighted  it  down  with  his  pillow. 

A  creaking  noise,  from  somewhere  that  sounded 
near,  startled  him  into  an  attitude  of  strained  atten- 
tion. He  glanced  towards  the  hall,  then  at  the 
green  curtains  that  screened  Merkle's  door,  jerking 
his  head  from  side  to  side.  He  could  not  locate 
the  source  of  the  sound,  and  it  was  not  repeated. 
Re-assured  after  a  moment,  he  walked  back  into  the 
room,  sought  out  pen,  ink  and  paper,  seated  himself 
at  the  reading  table,  and  prepared  to  write. 


2i8  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Dearest  mother,"  he  began.  His  hand  com- 
menced to  shake  again,  so  violently  that  he  could  go 
no  further.  The  pen  slipped  from  his  fingers  and 
rolled  off  the  table  to  the  floor.  He  let  it  lie,  and 
sat  crouched  above  the  table  trying  to  think. 

There  was  a  slight}  rustling  sound  behind  him, 
but  Tom,  his  mind  far  away,  did  not  hear.  A  hand 
had  moved  Merkle's  curtains  apart  and,  after  an 
instant,  let  them  fall  together  again.  Soon,  the 
hand  reappeared  through  the  curtains,  and  Merkle's 
head  and  body  followed  it.  He  took  a  noiseless 
step  into  the  room,  and  the  curtains  closed  softly  be- 
hind him.  Tom  was  oblivious. 

Merkle  stood  for  a  moment,  hesitating  to  dis- 
turb the  crouched  figure  before  him.  He  saw  the 
darkened  reading  lamp  without  its  tube,  and  swept 
the  room  with  a  keen  glance.  The  missing  tube 
hung  from  the  wall  in  plain  view,  and,  as  Merkle 
noted  the  dispositions  Tom  had  made  and  the  mean- 
ing of  it  all  came  home  to  him,  his  eyes  traveled 
back  to  Tom,  and  he  fell  to  rubbing  his  rough  chin 
reflectively.  It  did  not  take  him  long  apparently 
to  decide  upon  his  course  of  action,  for  presently  he 
straightened  up  and  was  about  to  speak. 

He  checked  the  words  at  his  lips,  for  Tom  had 
raised  his  head  and  was  looking  for  his  pen.  He 
picked  it  up,  dipped  it  carefully  in  the  ink,  straight- 
ened his  paper  before  him,  and  read  aloud  what  he 
had  written. 


THE  GAS  ROUTE  219 

"  Dearest  mother." 

The  words  glided  into  a  groan.  He  grasped 
the  pen  with  desperate  resolution  and,  mumbling 
the  words  he  wished  it  to  trace,  made  shift  in  that 
fashion  to  proceed: 

"  At  last  I  have  found  something  big  — " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   ARGUMENTUM  AD    HOMINEM 

MERKLE  delayed  no  longer.  Even  before 
Tom  spoke,  he  had  heard  and  seen  enough 
to  know  what  must  be  done  and  he  fancied  he  knew 
the  particular  way  to  do  it.  He  had  waited  only 
to  seize  the  diplomatic  moment  for  setting  about 
what  he  realized  must  be  a  gravely  delicate  under- 
taking. He  felt  strongly  the  need  of  proceeding 
with  the  utmost  circumspection.  Tom,  always  a 
sensitive  youth,  was  now  in  a  state  of  mind  to  re- 
sent and  repel  any  but  the  most  tactful  interference. 
It  is  doing  Merkle's  modesty  no  injustice  to  say 
that  he  felt  fully  equal  to  the  immediate  needs  of 
the  situation. 

But  it  wasn't  only  this  affair  of  the  gas  tube.  Of 
course  Tom  wasn't  to  be  allowed  to  make  away  with 
himself  in  that  impulsive  fashion.  The  boy  would 
continue  to  exist  for  some  time,  in  some  fashion  or 
other.  The  question  was:  How?  That  was  up 
to  Merkle.  Somewhere  in  the  next  five  or  ten  min- 
utes must  be  the  turning  point  of  Tom's  life,  be  it 
long  or  short.  It  lay  in  Merkle's  hands  to  deter- 
mine whether  the  critical  impulse  should  be  to  good 
or  evil. 

220 


\THE  ARGVMENTVM  AD  HOMINEM    221 

This,  or  something  like  this,  had  flashed  through 
the  alert  brain  of  the  newspaper  man  before  Tom, 
in  a  manner  that  seemed  half  delirious,  began  to 
mutter  the  message  he  was  trying  to  put  on  paper. 
Then,  with  quick  regard  for  the  boy's  rights  of 
mental  privacy,  Merkle  made  haste  to  announce  his 
presence. 

"  Excuse  me  for  coming  in  again  to-night,"  he 
said. 

His  tones  were  easy  and  natural,  as  befitted  a 
speech  so  simple,  but  their  effect  on  Tom  shocked 
him.  The  boy  went  suddenly  limp  and  pale,  as  If 
from  excess  of  terror,  and  he  stared  at  Merkle  as 
if  the  robust  newspaper  man  had  been  a  visitor  from 
the  land  of  shadows.  He  swayed  in  his  chair  and, 
for  an  instant  seemed  about  to  fall,  but  recovered 
before  Merkle  could  make  a  move  to  go  to  his  as- 
sistance. 

Merkle  behaved  as  if  he  had  noticed  nothing  out 
of  the  ordinary,  and  everything  had  passed  off  so 
quickly  that  the  pretense  was  an  easy  one  to  main- 
tain. After  a  moment  Tom  turned  to  his  letter 
and  hastily  covered  it  with  a  piece  of  blotting  paper. 
Then  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone  to  bed,"  he  said 
harshly. 

"  This  damn  shoulder,"  apologized  Merkle,  lay- 
ing his  hand  tenderly  on  the  maligned  joint  and! 
wincing  realistically.  "  It  won't  let  me  sleep.  1 


222  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

knew  you  were  still  up  because  your  light  comes 
through  my  doors." 

The  youth's  ill-humor  was  softened  at  the  sight 
of  the  other's  suffering. 

"  Sorry  the  light  bothers  you,"  he  said.  He 
went  over  to  the  door  and  began  to  fumble  at  the 
curtains.  "  Perhaps  I  can  fix  it." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  light,"  said  Merkle,  advancing 
quickly.  "  It's  this  confounded  pain."  He 
fondled  his  shoulder  once  more  and  groaned  dis- 
tressfully, while  he  looked  appealingly  at  Tom.  "  I 
thought  you  might  loan  me  that  miraculous  liniment 
again,"  he  said. 

"  Sure,"  replied  Tom.  But  he  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  considering  how  he  might  best  get  rid  of 
Merkle  before  the  newspaper  man's  suspicions  were 
aroused. 

"  Sure,"  he  repeated  mechanically.  He  gazed 
across  the  room  at  his  scattered  belongings.  "  If 
I  can  find  it,"  he  supplemented. 

He  started  towards  his  trunk  to  search  for  it. 
Merkle  walked  over  to  the  little  table  and  let  his 
eyes  fall  upon  the  letter. 

"Writing?"  he  inquired,  in  a  casual  tone. 

Tom  turned  hastily,  alarmed  lest  Merkle,  who 
had  more  than  once  urged  him  to  try  his  hand  at 
literary  work  in  his  leisure  moments,  might  mistake 
the  nature  of  his  composition  and  seek  to  read  and 
criticize  it. 


THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM,    223 

"  Nothing  important,"  he  said.  "  Just  some 
letters." 

"  Oh,"  said  Merkle.  He  turned  away  as  if  his 
interest  in  the  matter  had  departed,  and  Tom  threw 
open  his  trunk  and  delved  in.  The  liniment  was 
not  where  he  had  thought  he  had  left  it.  He  got 
down  on  his  knees  and  rummaged  diligently. 
"  Wonder  where  that  bottle  can  have  got  to?  "  he 
grumbled.  "  They've  changed  me  so  often  that  I 
can't  keep  track  of  anything." 

Merkle,  ostentatiously  busy  filling  up  his  pipe, 
was  all  the  while  watching  Tom  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye. 

"  Don't  go  to  any  trouble,"  he  said  at  last.  He 
scratched  a  match  and  puffed  noisily  at  the  choked 
briar.  "  Perhaps  a  smoke  will  brace  me  up,  if  only 
I  can  get  this  confounded  thing  to  burn." 

Tom  rose,  the  bottle  in  his  hand. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said,  and  held  it  out  for  Merkle 
to  see. 

"Find  it?"  asked  Merkle,  who  had  begun  to 
hope  that  he  wouldn't.  "  Good." 

Tom  shook  the  bottle  and  held  it  up  to  the  light. 
"  Enough  for  one  rub,  I  guess,"  he  said,  estimating 
its  contents.  "Want  me  to  help  you?" 

"  No,  thanks,"  replied  Merkle.  "  I  can  manage 
all  right." 

He  took  the  precious  bottle  <and  started  for  his 
room.  As  he  turned,  he  let  his  eyes  rest  on  the  gas 


224  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

tube  hanging  from  the  wall,  as  if  he  had  just  seen 
it  for  the  first  time.  He  gazed  at  it  for  a  moment, 
not  too  curiously,  then  turning  again  to  Tom, 
who  was  watching  him  in  an  agony  of  apprehen- 
sion, he  jerked  his  head  questioningly  toward  the 
tube. 

"What's  the  idea?"  he  asked. 

"  Why  = —  I,"  stammered  Tom,  "  you  see  —  I 
was  going  to  connect  it  with  the  lamp,  so  that  I 
could  read  in  bed." 

Merkle  looked  dubiously  from  Tom  to  the  tube 
and  back  again. 

"  I  see,"  he  said  at  last,  satisfied  apparently  with 
Tom's  explanation,  but  reluctant  to  give  up  some 
different  notion  which  had  found  lodgment  in  his 
head.  "  I  see.  For  a  moment  I  thought  it  meant 
something  else."  He  turned  to  the  tube  again  as 
though  it  held  some  strange  attraction  for  him.  "  I 
suppose,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "  it  was  because  I  was 
thinking  of  that  same  thing  myself." 

Tom's  nerves  gave  a  quick  jump.  "  What 
thing?"  he  asked. 

"  You  know,"  replied  Merkle  gloomily.  Tom 
seemingly  didn't  know,  and  Merkle  elucidated. 
"  Taking  a  trip  over  the  gas  route,"  he  put  it. 

Tom  gave  a  little  shuddering  laugh.  This  vul- 
gar characterization  of  the  mysterious  journey  he 
had  been  facing,  affected  him  unpleasantly.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  a  man  who  was  really  con- 


'THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    223 

templating  self-destruction,  could  speak  of  it  in  that 
mocking  way. 

"  Stop  your  kidding,"  was  all  he  could  say. 

But  the  newspaper  man  seemed  in  deadly  earnest. 
"  On  the  level,"  he  said.  "  There  isn't  much  fun 
going  through  this  agony,  day  in  and  day  out." 

There  was  a  note  of  hopeless  misery  in  his  voice 
that  stirred  Tom  to  sympathy.  And  with  his  sym- 
pathy was  mingled  not  a  little  of  curious  interest. 
He  was  having  another  unexpected  glimpse  of  the 
newspaper  man's  strange  character.  Merkle  had 
always  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of  human  porcupine, 
armed  against  the  world  at  large.  If  a  real  porcu- 
pine had  walked  into  his  room  and  laid  aside  its 
quills  and  poured  out  the  secret  of  its  fretfulness,  he 
could  hardly  have  been  more  surprised. 

But  Tom  felt  instinctively  that  it  would  not  do 
to  let  Merkle  know  how  this  revelation  of  weakness 
had  impressed  him.  It  was  necessary  to  dissemble, 
and  he  affected  to  speak  lightly.  He  laughed  again, 
more  naturally  this  time. 

"  You  feel  that  way  now  because  you're  in  pain," 
he  said.  "  Things  will  look  different  to  you  in  the 
morning." 

"Think  so,  do  you?"  growled  Merkle,  who 
seemed  to  resent  this  belittling  of  his  woes. 

"  Sure,"  said  Tom  heartily.  "  All  you  need  is 
a  good  night's  sleep,  and  you'll  wake  up  feeling 
fine." 


226  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Thanks,"  said  Merkle,  with  sarcastic  emphasis. 
He  stood  for  a  moment,  with  a  thoughful  look  on 
his  face,  then  abruptly  extended  his  hand.  Tom 
grasped  it  and  attempted  a  cheerful  good-night 
shake.  But  Merkle's  clasp  was  as  rigid  as  a  vise. 
He  looked  Tom  straight  in  the  face  and  his  eyes 
were  burning  with  sombre  resolve. 

"  If  you  don't  see  me  again  —  good  luck,"  he 
said. 

His  deep,  vibrant  tones  rang  in  Tom's  ears  like 
the  reverberations  of  tolling  bells,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  to  be  adding  some  unutterable  thing  to  the 
words  he  spoke.  After  a  moment,  he  slowly  re- 
leased Tom's  hand  and  turned  away.  He  had  al- 
most reached  his  door  before  Tom  came  out  of  his 
entrancement  and  called  sharply. 

"  Say,  Merkle."  The  newspaper  man  stopped 
and  turned  to  Tom  inquiringly. 

"  You  didn't  really  mean  what  you  said  just  now, 
did  you?  "  asked  Tom. 

"What's  that?"  inquired  Merkle.  He  seemed 
to  be  making  a  sluggish  effort  to  remember.  "  Oh, 
yes,  about  the — "  he  nodded  to  indicate  the  gas 
tube. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom. 

Merkle  sucked  reflectively  at  his  dead  pipe. 
"  Well,"  he  drawled,  "  I'm  not  sure  that  I'd  use 
gas,  but  — " 

"  .You  wouldn't  be  such  a  fool,"  exploded  Tom, 


THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    227 

too  impatient  to  hear  him  out.  "  Just  because  you 
happen  to  be  in  a  little  pain." 

"  It  isn't  the  physical  pain  that  counts,  son,"  re- 
plied Merkle.  He  tapped  his  forehead  despond- 
ently. He  seemed  about  to  speak  further,  but  Tom 
again  cut  him  short. 

"  Suppose  you  are  sore  on  yourself,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "What  does  that  amount  to?"  He 
looked  at  Merkle  pityingly,  almost  contemptuously. 
"  iWhere's  your  nerve?  "  he  demanded. 

The  question  seemed  to  sting,  for  Merkle  shook 
off  his  apathy  and  replied  with  some  show  of  feeling. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  bit  cowardly,"  he  said.  "  But 
I  don't  know  that  it's  anybody's  business  what  I 
do." 

He  turned  abruptly  away  and  his  hand  was  on 
the  curtain  of  his  door,  before  Tom's  anxious  cry 
halted  him  once  more. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  entreated  the  youth.  "  Don't 
go  yet." 

"(You  want  to  get  back  to  your  letters,"  Merkle 
reminded  him. 

"  Bother  the  letters,"  said  Tom.  "  I've  got  lots 
of  time.  Let's  talk  this  thing  over." 

With  a  show  of  reluctance,  Merkle  yielded.  He 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  little  table,  seated  him- 
self, and  waited  for  Tom  to  begin. 

"What  happened  to  you  to-day?"  was  the  first 
question. 


2228  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Merkle.  "  In  fact,  I'm  tired 
of  waiting  for  something  to  happen." 

"  I  see,"  said  Tom,  willing  to  humor  his  man  a 
little  to  gain  his  confidence.  "  Just  a  case  of  down 
on  your  luck  and  feel  blue." 

Merkle  shook  his  head  with  a  superior  sort  of  a 
smile,  a  smile  that  was  full  of  pity  for  the  inexpe- 
rienced youth  before  him. 

"  You  don't  understand,  son,"  he  said. 

"Why  don't  I?"  demanded  the  nettled  youth. 

"  Well,"  explained  Merkle,  "  it's  different  with 
you.  You're  young,  with  a  whole  lifetime  of 
chances  ahead.  A  beautiful  home,  a  loving  mother 
waiting  for  you."  He  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the 
table  till  they  lighted  upon  the  photograph  of  the 
Fairview  home,  lying  where  Tom  had  tossed  it 
down.  "  What  have  I  got?  "  he  asked. 

"  Friends,"  said  Tom. 

"  Not  one,"  replied  Merkle  promptly.  "  Not  a 
soul  in  the  world  that  really  cares." 

He  sank  forward  in  his  chair  and  gazed  sadly 
at  the  floor.  His  words  had  the  ring  of  truth. 
Perhaps  he  had  never  fully  realized  his  loneliness 
till  riow,  when,  for  another's  benefit,  he  had  summed 
up  his  existence  in  a  phrase.  As  Tom  looked  at  the 
bent  figure,  his  heart  was  touched. 

"  I  care,"  he  said,  with  sudden  diffidence. 

"  Not  enough  to  count,"  replied  Merkle,  with  a 
bitter  smile.  He  had  forgotten  for  the  moment 


{THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    229 

that  he, had  set  out  to  play  a  part.  "I'm  on  the 
wrong  side  of  forty,"  he  went  on,  jerking  out  his 
words  as  if  each  mouthful  were  distasteful  to  him. 
"  Loaded  down  with  bitterness  and  disappointment. 
Nothing  to  look  forward  to.  A  nuisance  to  every- 
body including  myself."  He  recollected  himself 
suddenly,  and  with  a  return  to  his  usual  deliberate 
manner  of  speaking,  invited  Tom  to  consider  the 
items  he  had  presented. 

"  Those  are  my  assets,"  he  said. 

"  You  never  can  tell  when  luck  will  change,"  re- 
plied Tom,  rather  feebly. 

"  I've  been  telling  myself  that  for  a  good  many 
years,"  retorted  Merkle.  "  But  it  hasn't." 

"  Because  you  haven't  met  it  half  way,"  persisted 
Tom,  more  combatively,  for  he  felt  that  his  argu- 
ment was  making  small  progress.  "  You  haven't 
hustled." 

"  That's  true,"  Merkle  conceded.  "  I've  always 
let  the  other  fellow  get  his  first." 

Tom  tried  a  new  line. 

"  You're  in  a  rut,"  he  said,  "  and  you've  got  to 
get  out  of  it.  Why,  if  I  had  half  your  talent,  I'd 
be  at  the  top  of  the  profession.  There  isn't  any 
position  I  couldn't  attain.  I've  read  your  stuff,"  he 
went  on  earnestly,  "  and  you're  too  clever  a  man  not 
to  succeed.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  thrqw  out 
your  chest,  go  to  it  with  an  '  I  am  it '  expression  on 
your  face,  and  get  anything  you  want." 


23o  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Tom  had  risen  to  his  feet  as  he  spoke  and  he 
ended  with  fine  oratorical  effect.  But  he  left 
Merkle  unmoved. 

"  When  I  was  your  age,  I  talked  in  exactly  the 
same  way,"  was  the  cold  response. 

"  But  I  mean  it,  old  man,"  said  Tom,  urgently. 
"  There  are  thousands  of  opportunities  all  over  the 
country  just  waiting  for  a  man  like  you." 

"  Where?  "  growled  Merkle. 

"  Everywhere,"  replied  Tom,  with  a  gesture  that 
took  in  the  horizon. 

"  That's  too  indefinite,"  was  the  grating  reply. 

"  But," —  Tom  suddenly  bethought  himself  — 
"  I  know  one  town  that's  a  cinch.  They're  dying 
for  a  newspaper,  and  a  man  like  you  could  make  a 
fortune  at  it." 

"  Let's  pretend,"  rejoined  Merkle,  "  that  I'm 
from  the  grand  old  state  of  Missouri." 

"  I  can  show  you  all  right,"  said  Tom.  "  It's 
the  town  I  came  from.  Fairview,  New  York." 

"  How  big  is  it?  "  asked  Merkle. 

"  Over  five  thousand." 

Merkle,  for  the  first  time,  betrayed  symptoms  of 
interest  in  what  Tom  was  trying  to  tell  him. 

"Five  thousand?"  he  repeated.  "And  they 
haven't  any  local  sheet?  " 

"  Not  when  I  left,"  said  Tom. 

"  That  sounds  pretty  good,"  Merkle  conceded. 

"  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,"  Tom  assured 


THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    231 

him.  "  I  used  to  dream  of  trying  it  myself,  but 
nobody  had  any  confidence  in  me.  You  could  go 
up  there,  live  in  our  cottage,  and  be  a  successful 
newspaper  proprietor  in  no  time.  No  telling  how; 
much  you'd  clean  up." 

"  You  seem  pretty  sure,"  said  Merkle.  His  eyes 
were  following  Tom  as  the  youth  walked  up  and 
down  in  front  of  him.  He  seemed  impressed,  in 
spite  of  himself,  by  Tom's  earnestness. 

"  Because  I've  lived  there,"  said  Tom.  "  I  know 
the  people  and  what  they  want.  .You  take  my  ad- 
vice and  go." 

Merkle  seemed  to  consider  deeply,  scratching  his 
chin  after  the  manner  he  had  when  anything  per- 
plexed him.  Tom  had  stopped  in  his  walk  to  watch 
him.  After  a  moment  or  two  the  newspaper  man 
raised  his  head  and  looked  Tom  straight  in  the  eye. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  —  if  you  will 
come  with  me." 

"  Me?  "  cried  Tom,  taken  off  his  feet  at  this  un- 
expected offer, 

"  Sure,"  said  Merkle  confidently.  "  If  it's  half 
as  good  as  you  seem  to  think  it  is,  there's  enough 
for  two." 

Tom  hesitated  painfully.  Fairview  was  the  last 
place  on  earth  he  wanted  to  show  his  face.  He  had 
never  forgotten  his  parting  boast  to  Judge  Belknap : 
"  I'll  never  show  up  here  a  failure."  And  Jane ! 
No,  he  couldn't  face  it.  If  only  Merkle  had  pro- 


232  THE  COUNTRY.  BOY 

posed  a  jaunt  to  the  South  Pole,  or  any  other  im- 
possible place,  he  would  have  fallen  in  with  the  ven- 
ture cheerfully  enough.  And  yet  —  how  could  he 
refuse  to  enter  upon  a  plan  that  promised  salvation 
for  the  man  he  had  set  out  to  save  from  himself? 
His  embarrassment  grew  when  he  noticed  that 
Merkle  was  watching  him  keenly. 

"  I'd  rather  not,  old  man,"  he  stammered,  when 
he  could  delay  his  reply  no  longer. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Merkle,  with  cutting  emphasis. 
"  It's  good  enough  for  me,  but  not  for  you." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Tom  hastily,  distressed  at 
Merkle's  attitude.  "  It  isn't  that.  There  are  rea- 
sons why  I  can't  go  back  to  Fairview." 

"Something  keeping  you  here?"  demanded 
Merkle. 

"  Yes,  something  I  can't  explain." 

"  Nothing  at  home  you  can't  face?  " 

Tom  flushed  under  the  question  and  the  grave 
look  that  accompanied  it. 

"  Nothing  criminal,  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  he 
replied. 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  replied  Tom,  with  dogged  per- 
sistence. 

Merkle  eyed  the  youth  curiously.  He  seemed 
perplexed  at  his  attitude. 

"  You've  got  a  home  —  a  mother,"  he  said,  after 
a  short  pause. 


\THE  ARGVMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    233 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  you  can't  go  back?  " 

"  Not  as  a  failure,"  replied  Tom,  in  a  voice  of 
decision.  He  sank  into  his  chair  and  slumped  back 
into  a  posture  of  listless  dejection. 

There  was  a  period  of  silence.  Tom  could  feel 
Merkle's  searching  glance  upon  him,  and  he  labored 
to  hide  his  thoughts  under  a  mask  of  impenetrability. 

"  That's  it,  is  it?  "  said  Merkle  at  last.  "  Your 
vanity?  " 

"  Vanity !  "  exclaimed  the  youth,  coming  angrily 
to  his  feet  at  this  disparaging  diagnosis.  His  ir- 
ritation was  all  the  greater  because  he  could  not  help 
acknowledging  to  himself  that  Merkle  was  nearly 
half  right. 

"  Yes,  your  vanity,"  repeated  Merkle,  with  quiet 
insistence.  "Your  vanity  is  hurt  because  you 
haven't  succeeded  in  what  you  set  out  to  accomplish. 
And  you  haven't  the  moral  courage  to  go  back  now 
and  face  the  jeers  of  the  other  fellows."  He 
paused  for  a  moment  and  surveyed  the  frowning 
face  of  the  youth  before  him.  His  words  had  cut 
deep,  but  not  deep  enough  he  believed,  to  serve  his 
purpose,  and  an  accent  of  quiet  scorn  crept  into  his 
even  tones  as  he  continued. 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  it  get  the  best  of  you?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  thought  you  had  better  stuff  in  you." 

Tom  was  standing  before  him  with  a  tense  scowl 
on  his  face.  For  a  moment  Merkle  feared  that  he 


234  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

had  overplayed  his  cards  and  that  Tom's  next  move 
would  be  a  more  or  less  polite  request  to  quit  the 
room  and  leave  him  alone  with  his  injured  vanity. 
He  was  surprised  therefore,  and  disappointed  too, 
when  Tom  suddenly  relaxed,  turned  away  with  a. 
weary  droop  of  the  body,  and  walked  back  to  his 
chair. 

"  You  can't  get  around  the  fact  that  I'm  a  fail- 
ure," he  said,  with  a  languid,  what-does-it-matter- 
anyhow  sort  of  air. 

"  The  only  discreditable  thing  about  that  is  that 
you  admit  it,"  retorted  Merkle.  "  Let  me  tell  you 
something,  son." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  took  a  turn  up  and  down 
in  front  of  Tom's  chair  before  he  went  on.  The 
boy's  apathy  disconcerted  him.  It  was  unnatural. 
He  had  seemed  interested  for  a  time  when  Merkle's 
fortunes  were  under  discussion.  His  own  seemed 
to  have  passed  out  of  his  concern.  Taunts  had 
failed  to  rouse  him.  But  Merkle  refused  to  be  dis- 
couraged. He  turned  to  Tom. 

"  Nine  out  of  every  ten  men  that  strike  this  city," 
he  began,  "  go  up  against  it  in  the  same  way  at  the 
start.  The  tenth  may  find  it  easy.  Things  break 
right  for  him  at  the  jump  and,  before  he  realizes 
what  it's  all  about,  he  finds  himself  at  the  top.  He 
doesn't  deserve  any  credit  for  that.  It's  been 
handed  to  him  on  a  silver  platter.  But  the  other 


THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    235 

He  swung  his  fist  into  his  palm  with  a  resounding 
thwack  that  made  Tom  look  up.  "  The  other  nine 
have  to  fight  for  it.  Some  of  them  haven't  the 
staying  qualities  and  *  lay  down,'  but  those  who 
have  the  right  stuff  in  them  refuse  to  acknowledge 
that  they're  licked,  so  they  shut  their  teeth  hard  and 
go  at  it  once  more.  Perhaps  they  get  another  solar 
plexus,  but  they're  up  at  the  sound  of  the  gong,  and 
they  keep  coming  up  in  spite  of  their  knockdowns 
until  the  world  realizes  that  they  can't  be  kept  down, 
and  so  is  forced  to  make  a  place  for  them." 

Carried  away  by  the  eloquence  of  his  own  im- 
agery, Merkle's  voice  had  risen  as  he  proceeded,  and 
his  phrases  had  been  punctuated  with  prize-ring 
guards  and  jabs.  Now  he  came  to  a  sudden  halt 
and  extended  his  hand  to  Tom  with  a  gesture  of 
confident  appeal.  "  Believe  me,  son,"  he  said,  "  a 
man  isn't  a  failure  till  he  admits  it  himself." 

"  That  sounds  all  right,"  said  Tom,  moved,  but 
not  convinced,  "  but  there's  something  more  to  it 
than  worldly  success.  I've  found  that  out.  A  man 
has  to  have  —  character."  He  hesitated  at  the 
word  as  though  its  enunciation  cost  him  a  wrench. 
"  I've  shown  just  how  little  I  have,"  he  added  bit- 
terly. 

"  You've  got  character,  all  right,"  replied  Merkle 
quickly,  "  or  you  wouldn't  admit  that  you  hadn't. 
All  you  have  to  do  now  to  prove  it,  is  to  assume  the 
responsibility  that  goes  with  it." 


236  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"What  responsibility?"  asked  Tom,  taking  the 
bait. 

"Myself,"  said  Merkle  promptly.  "  I've 
agreed  to  take  a  chance  at  your  suggestion.  That's 
your  responsibility,  and  you  can't  shirk  it.  Now  I 
propose  to  do  the  same  for  you.  Let's  be  respon- 
sible for  each  other.  Let's  go  into  this  thing  as 
partners." 

"  Not  at  Fairview,"  replied  Tom,  setting  his  jaw 
stubbornly  at  Merkle's  renewed  appeal. 

"  It's  the  only  way  you  can  make  good,"  urged 
Merkle. 

"You  don't  understand,  Merkle,"  said  Tom. 
He  wanted  to  stop  there,  but  Merkle's  insistent  gaze 
compelled  him  to  proceed. 

"  There's  a  girl,"  he  said. 

"Ah-h!"  said  Merkle  slowly.  "The  girl  at 
home?"  For  a  moment  he  seemed  at  a  loss. 
"There  always  is,"  he  went  on,  a  generalization 
vexing  to  Tom.  "  But,"  with  renewed  briskness, 
"  that's  all  the  more  reason  why  you  shouldn't  '  lay 
down.'  " 

"  I  can't  face  it,"  said  Tom,  dropping  his  head. 

"  The  hell  you  can't."  Merkle's  voice  rose  to  an 
indignant  roar.  "  You're  coming  home  with  me." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Tom,  with  an  obstinacy  equal  to 
Merkle's  own. 

"  Think  it  over,"  advised  Merkle,  with  irritating 
pertinacity. 


THE  "ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    237 

"Don't  you  think  I  have  thought?"  exclaimed 
the  youth.  "  I've  thought  until  my  brain  reels." 
He  rose  to  his  feet  with  an  impatient  fling  of  the 
hands.  "  Don't  talk  to  me  any  more,"  he  said  with 
gruff  decision.  "  I  want  to  be  alone." 

He  started  towards  the  curtained  door,  but 
Merkle  stepped  in  his  path,  gripped  him  by  the 
shoulders,  and  held  him  fast. 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go,"  he  said,  "  and 
you're  going  with  me." 

Tom,  unable  to  free  himself  without  undue  vio- 
lence, turned  his  face  aside  and  remained  resolutely 
silent.  In  a  kinder  voice  Merkle  went  on. 

"  Just  think  how  comfy  we'll  be  in  the  old  home," 
he  said,  "  and  how  happy  the  mother  will  be  to  see 
her  boy  again."  He  could  feel  Tom  tremble  under 
his  hands.  "  You  don't  think  she'll  consider  you  a 
failure,  do  you?  Mothers  aren't  built  that  way. 
And  the  girl  —  she's  probably  waiting  and  hoping 
that  you  will  come  back.  What  if  you  have  made 
a  fool  of  yourself?  Don't  you  suppose  that  she'll 
understand  that  you're  all  the  better  for  the  expe- 
rience? .Come  home,  kid.  Come  on  home  with 
me." 

Tom  was  white  and  shaking  as  Merkle  released 
him  and  stepped  back,  his  hands  outstretched  in  a 
final  appeal. 

"Why  couldn't  you  have  stayed  out  of  here?'* 
he  groaned.  "  I  knew  what  I  wanted  to  do  before 


238  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

you  came  in.  Why  didn't  you  leave  me  to 
myself?" 

He  gazed  at  Merkle  with  dull  eyes  for  a  moment 
longer,  then  sank  into  his  chair,  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands,  and  went  to  mumbling  stupidly.  Merkle 
determined  upon  a  bold,  psychological  stroke. 

"  I  came  because  I  wanted  to  show  you  the  folly 
of  what  you  had  in  mind,"  he  said.  He  spoke  very 
slowly  and  deliberately,  to  make  sure  that  no  ex- 
asperating syllable  should  be  lost. 

Tom  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  him  in  be- 
wilderment. 

"  Then  you  knew  all  the  time?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  couldn't  help  overhearing  what  passed  be- 
tween you  and  LeRoy,"  was  the  reply,  "and  — I 
guessed  the  rest." 

Tom  sprang  to  his  feet,  scarlet  with  quick  resent- 
ment. His  eyes  were  flashing  now.  So  then !  He 
had  been  tricked,  trifled  with,  played  for  a  fool! 
And  with  what  outrageous  ease !  All  this  had  been 
a  shallow  farce,  and  he,  cheap  dolt  that  he  was,  had 
been  gossiping  of  his  soul  tragedy.  He  had  per- 
mitted himself  to  be  brought  to  the  verge  of  un- 
manly tears ;  had  listened,  almost  yielded  to  a  hypo- 
critical appeal. 

His  voice  was  hoarse  with  passion  as  he  advanced 
towards  Merkle. 

"  So  you've  had  an  evening's  fun  at  my  expense," 
he  exclaimed. 


THE  ARGUMENTUM  AD  HOMINEM    239 

"  That  isn't  fair,  kid,"  said  Merkle  quickly. 
The  newspaper  man  had  been  observing  the  prog- 
ress of  his  psychological  experiment  with  no  little 
uneasiness.  It  had  been  his  scientific  purpose  to  ad- 
minister a  mental  jolt,  violent  enough  to  shatter  the 
shell  of  lethargic  indifference  in  which  Tom's  fac- 
ulties seemed  incased.  If  only  the  boy  could  be 
goaded  or  stimulated  into  any  normal  manifestation 
of  thought  or  feeling,  there  would  be  a  chance, 
Merkle  thought,  of  making  a  successful  appeal  to 
him  on  some  basis,  rational  or  sentimental.  He 
must  rely  upon  his  own  ready  wit  to  take  advantage 
of  whatever  opening  might  present  itself. 

Well,  the  first  stage  of  his  experiment  had  been 
a  glittering  success.  The  jolt  had  been  effective. 
Tom  was  in  a  genuine  state  of  feeling  —  a  perfectly 
normal,  shell-shattering  burst  of  passion,  there  was 
no  doubt  of  that.  His  case  hardened  faculties  had 
been  resolved  into  a  condition  of  ebullient  fluidity. 
It  remained  only  to  mould  the  plastic  mind-stuff  to 
the  shape  desired. 

But,  at  the  critical  moment,  Merkle's  experiment 
had  gone  to  smash  —  as  an  experiment.  In  scien- 
tific work  of  great  delicacy  there  is  always  a  personal 
equation,  the  index  of  the  quality  of  the  observer, 
to  be  considered.  Merkle,  untrained  in  scientific 
methods,  had  neglected  to  take  this  elusive  factor 
into  account. 

"  That  isn't  fair,  kid,"  had  been  his  first  impulsive 


THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

protest,  quietly  enough  spoken.  Then,  as  he  real- 
ized what  must  be  passing  through  Tom's  excited 
brain,  a  wave  of  generous  resentment  swept  across 
his  own,  his  scientific  purpose  was  suddenly  sub- 
merged, and  his  words  were  straight-out  and  man- 
ful. 

"  I  meant  all  that  I  said,  and  I  mean  it  now,"  he 
said. 

There  was  a  challenge  in  his  voice  and  manner 
that  would  not  be  put  aside.  It  was  at  once  an 
affirmation  of  good  faith  and  a  demand  for  fair  play 
in  return.  So  obvious  was  its  sincerity  that  Tom's 
onset  was  checked  and  a  moment's  reflection  sufficed 
to  disarm  his  wrath.  Merkle  was  standing  by  his 
offer.  If  his  words  meant  anything,  they  meant 
that.  His  talk  of  suicide  had  been  a  bluff,  perhaps, 
but  it  had  been  prompted  by  utter  friendliness  and, 
if  such  artifice  required  apology,  Merkle's  words 
supplied  it.  He  had  wanted  to  show  Tom,  out  of 
his  own  mouth,  what  a  fool  he  was  about  to  make  of 
himself.  Tom  did  not  concede  the  success  of  the 
'demonstration. 

"What  else  was  left  me?"  he  argued,  their 
clash  forgotten  by  common  consent.  "  I've  disap- 
pointed the  girl  that  loved  me,  I've  disappointed  my 
mother's  faith  in  me,  and,  worst  of  all,  I've  disap- 
pointed myself.  I  thought  myself  fit  for  the  biggest 
things  and  found  that  I  couldn't  rise  above  the 
smallest  of  them.  I  was  told  to  go  out  into  the 


\THE  ARGVMENTVM  AD  HOMINEM    241 

world  of  real  men  and  women,  and  find  out  what  I 
wanted  and  what  I  could  do.  All  I've  succeeded 
in  doing  is  to  find  out  what  I  don't  want  and  what 
I  can't  do." 

"  Doesn't  that  prove  you're  not  a  failure?  "  was 
the  cheerful  response.  Merkle  was  chuckling  in- 
wardly at  the  outcome  of  his  experiment,  wholly 
failing  to  realize  that,  by  substituting  character  for 
ingenuity  at  the  pinch,  he  had  destroyed  its  scien- 
tific value.  Here  was  Tom,  reasoning  himself  back 
into  his  proper  senses.  Let  him  talk  his  head  off. 
It  would  go  hard  if  he,  Merkle,  could  not  outreason 
a  boy. 

And  yet,  it  was  a  happy  chance,  rather  than 
Merkle's  powers  of  persuasion,  that  determined  the 
final  result  in  his  favor. 

"  Success,"  he  was  saying,  "  is  a  process  of  elimi- 
nation. When  a  man  has  found  out  what  he 
doesn't  want  and  what  he  can't  do,  he  has  found 
himself."  Tom  started  at  the  half-remembered 
phrase. 

"  And  you,"  Merkle  concluded,  "  have  found 
yourself  in  the  crucible  of  experience." 

Then,  for  an  instant,  he  was  alarmed.  Tom 
went  suddenly  white  as  chalk,  and  he  reeled 
back  with  narrowed  eyes  and  hands  uplifted  as 
though  to  shield  his  face  from  a  flash  of 
blinding  light.  Merkle  caught  his  elbow  to  steady 
him. 


242  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  The  crucible  of  experience,"  Tom  repeated 
faintly.  "  The  crucible  — " 

He  turned  an  awe-struck  face  to  Merkle  and 
stared  at  him  as  if  he  were  some  being  with  uncanny 
powers. 

"  Why  I  "  he  gasped.     "  That's  what  Jane  said." 

"Of  course,"  said  Merkle.  "That's  why  I 
want  you  to  go  back  to  Fairview.  Opportunity 
isn't  geographical.  It  lies  within  one's  self.  It's 
waiting  for  you  now,  if  you'll  only  see  it.  Nothing 
but  vanity  or  cowardice  will  keep  you  from  it." 

Tom  only  half  heard  him.  There  was  a  rapt 
expression  on  his  face  that  persisted  even  after 
Merkle  had  ceased  to  speak.  Then  there  was  si- 
lence, and  their  eyes  met  in  a  long,  steady  gaze. 

"  I'm  not  a  coward,"  said  Tom. 

"  You'll  go,"  cried  Merkle. 

Tom  looked  at  him  a  moment  longer.  Then, 
with  a  swift,  impulsive  motion,  he  grasped  Merkle's 
hand. 

"  Sure,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
MERKLE'S  SHIP  COMES  HOME 

TOM'S  consent  had  come  so  suddenly  that 
Merkle  hardly  understood  how  it  had  been 
brought  about.  But  he  was  not  a  man  to  waste 
time  in  idle  conjecture,  once  his  end  was  gained. 
Besides,  the  possibility  of  anything  like  a  scene 
made  him  uncomfortable.  In  a  twinkling  he  was 
all  business. 

"  Good  boy,'*  he  said,  shaking  Tom's  hand 
briskly.  "  I've  a  time  table  in  my  room.  I'll  see 
how  the  trains  run." 

And  he  stepped  quickly  through  the  curtains, 
leaving  Tom  standing  alone  in  the  center  of  the 
room. 

For  a  few  moments  the  boy  did  not  stir.  The 
outside  door  bell  rang  loudly,  but  he  did  not  hear. 
He  threw  back  his  head  and  shook  it  vigorously  as 
if  to  clear  it  of  the  dregs  of  an  ugly  dream.  The 
door  bell  rang  again,  more  violently  than  before, 
and  though  its  clamorous  appeal  did  not  reach  Tom's 
consciousness,  it  roused  him  a  trifle  and  he  looked 
about  him.  His  eye  fell  first  upon  the  unfinished 
letter.  He  tore  it  quickly  into  small  pieces,  which 
he  thrust  into  his  pocket.  Then  he  hastily  removed 
243 


244  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

the  gas  tube  from  the  wall  jet  and  threw  it  under 
the  bed.  He  had  hardly  completed  these  arrange- 
ments when  Merkle  re-entered,  a  time  table  un- 
folded in  his  hands. 

"  There's  a  pretty  good  train  at  eight,"  he  said. 
"  It'll  get  us  there  by  night.  What  do  you  think?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  money,"  said  Tom. 

Merkle  came  to  a  dead  halt,  and  an  expression  of 
disgust  spread  itself  over  his  face  as  he  remembered 
how  he  had  given  his  last  dollar,  nay,  his  last  dime, 
to  Joe  Weinstein. 

"  Damn !  "  he  exploded. 

He  felt  rapidly  through  his  pockets,  though  he 
knew  full  well  it  was  a  hopeless  search. 

"  Neither  have  I,"  he  said. 

"  And  even  if  we  did  have  enough  for  our  fare, 
we  couldn't  start  a  newspaper  on  nothing,"  Tom  re- 
minded him. 

"A  hunch!  Thirteen!"  croaked  Merkle,  with 
savage  irony.  He  strode  across  the  room  to  the 
calendar,  tore  off  the  luckless  black-ringed  page, 
crumpled  it  between  his  hands  and  hurled  it  into  the 
waste  basket. 

"Hell!"  he  snorted. 

"  I  thought  it  sounded  too  good,"  said  Tom 
gloomily. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Merkle,  throwing  him- 
self into  a  chair.  "  Perhaps  I  can  think  of 
something." 


MERKLE'S  SHIP  COMES  HOME       245 

Meantime  the  door  bell  had  continued  to  ring  at 
intervals,  though,  in  their  excitement,  neither  had 
paid  any  attention  to  it.  Now,  in  the  silence  pre- 
pared for  Merkle's  mental  labors,  they  could  hear 
voices  in  the  hall,  Mrs.  Bannan  scolding  volubly 
and  Joe  doing  his  best  to  explain  how  it  happened 
that  he  had  forgotten  his  latchkey.  The  landlady 
went  down  the  hall  at  last.  They  could  follow  her 
progress  by  the  creaking  of  the  floor  planks.  Then 
there  came  a  guarded  knock  on  the  door. 

Tom  opened  it,  and  Joe  stepped  into  the  room, 
brimming  over  with  indignation. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  guys?"  he  com- 
plained. "  Didn't  you  hear  me  ring?  I  forgot  my 
key  and  the  old  lady  had  to  come  down  and  let  me 
in." 

"  You  ought  to  thank  your  stars  that  I  don't 
throw  you  out  of  that  window,"  said  Merkle,  with  a 
truculence  that  was  not  wholly  counterfeit. 

Joe  backed  up  against  the  door  and  looked  at  him 
with  well-feigned  alarm.  u  What's  getting  into 
you?  "  he  said. 

"Where's  my  money?"  demanded  Merkle,  with 
growing  wrath. 

Joe's  face  cracked  into  a  smile,  despite  himself. 

"  Gimme  a  chance,  can't  you?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  What?  "  raved  Merkle.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
say  you  hit  it?  " 

With  maddening  deliberation  Joe  put  his  hand  in 


246  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

his  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  roll  of  bills  that  looked 
to  Merkle  as  big  as  a  loaf  of  bread. 

"  What  does  it  look  like?  "  asked  Joe. 

Merkle  staggered  towards  him,  almost  overcome 
at  this  sudden  turn  of  fortune. 

"Great  God!"  he  cried.  "And  half  of  it  is 
mine." 

Joe  grasped  his  arm  with  his  free  hand  and  sought 
to  restrain  him.  "  Wait  a  minute.  Let  me  ex- 
plain," he  cried. 

Before  he  could  say  another  word  the  door  was 
thrown  open  without  warning  and  Mrs.  Bannan 
rushed  into  the  room. 

"Ain't  you  men  ever  going  to  bed?"  she  cried 
angrily.  "  Do  you  think  you  can  burn  my  gas  all 
night?" 

And  she  began  turning  out  gas  jets  as  fast  as 
she  could,  Joe  trying  in  vain  to  placate  her.  "  It's 
all  right,  mother,"  he  said.  "  Be  a  good  fellow  for 
once." 

She  turned  upon  him  threateningly.  "  If  you 
want  to  talk,  you'll  have  to  do  it  in  the  dark,"  she 
shrilled.  "  Remember,  all  my  other  people  are 
asleep.  If  I  see  those  lights  going  again,  I'll  put 
you  all  out." 

And  with  this  ultimatum  she  stamped  heavily  out, 
ignoring  Joe's  attempts  at  conciliation.  An  appre- 
hensive silence  followed  her  departure.  The  room 
was  still  faintly  illuminated  by  stray  beams  from  a 


cg  , 


MERKLE'S  SHIP  COMES  HOME       247 

street  lamp  across  the  way,  and,  as  their  eyes  became 
accustomed  to  the  semi-darkness,  Merkle,  with  a 
grin,  motioned  to  Tom. 

"  Shut  the  door,  kid,"  he  said. 

Tom  closed  it  very  softly  and  returned  to  the 
others. 

"  How  much  did  you  get,  Joe?  "  said  Merkle,  al- 
most in  a  whisper. 

"  Enough  to  open  a  moving  picture  show,"  said 
Joe,  with  a  triumphant  grin.  "  And  I've  got  the 
thing  all  doped  out." 

"  It's  the  wrong  dope,"  said  Merkle.  "  We  don't 
want  a  moving  picture  show.  We've  got  a  better 
proposition." 

Joe's  fingers  tightened  on  the  roll. 

"What?"  he  demanded. 

"  A  newspaper,"  replied  Merkle,  in  a  loud,  eager 
whisper.  "  We're  going  to  start  a  sheet  in  a  town 
that  looks  like  ready  money." 

"A  newspaper?"  Joe's  face  fell.  "Where?" 
he  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"  Fairview,  New  York,"  said  Merkle. 

"  Where  the  hell  is  that?  "  asked  Joe,  to  whom 
everything  west  of  Jersey  City  was  a  howling  wil- 
derness. 

"  Where  I  come  from,"  explained  Tom. 

Joe  eyed  him  in  a  manner  that  was  supercilious, 
if  nothing  more  offensive. 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  he  said. 


248  THE  COUNTRY  BOY, 

"  Ss-h-h,"  hissed  Merkle,  enforcing  silence  on 
Tom,  who  seemed  about  to  launch  an  appropriate 
reply.  He  pointed  to  the  landlady's  room  over- 
head. "  Sit  down,  Joe,  and  we'll  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

He  shoved  Joe  quickly  into  a  chair,  and  drew  up 
two  others  beside  it  for  himself  and  Tom. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  said.  "  Explain  it  to  him." 
Tightly  clutching  his  roll,  Joe  settled  himself  to 
listen.  What  boots  it  to  rehearse  the  reasons,  the 
promises,  the  warnings,  the  cajoleries  that  were 
poured  into  his  devoted  ear?  It  was  two  to  one, 
anyhow,  and,  against  Tom's  enthusiasm  and 
Merkle's  driving  arguments,  he  had  never  a  chance. 
When  the  early  dawn  stole  in  upon  them,  they  were 
still  talking,  but  the  argument  was  over.  Merkle, 
a  pad  on  his  knees,  was  busily  engaged  in  figuring 
out  the  possibilities  and  delimitations  of  a  bank-roll 
that  seemed  to  shrink  in  the  process,  interrupting  his 
calculations  from  time  to  time  to  instruct  Joe  in  his 
duties  and  obligations  as  circulation  manager  of 
The  Fairuiew  Herald. 


,  CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  INVASION  OF  FAIRVIEW 

THEY  reached  Fairview  Saturday  night,  with 
their  best  clothes  on  their  backs  and  a  thou- 
sand dollars  in  their  pockets.     It  had  proved  im- 
practicable to  jump  out  of  New  York  on  the  first 
train  in  the  morning  as  Merkle  had  wished. 

In  the  first  place  it  had  been  necessary  for  Merkle 
to  consult  with  a  Park  Row  friend  of  his,  a  news- 
paper broker,  who  had  marvelous  bargains  to  offer 
in  the  way  of  second-hand  presses  and  other  print 
shop  equipment,  and  who  was  cheerful  about  taking 
notes  when  he  couldn't  get  cash.  Then  there  was 
the  press  association  that  supplied  country  papers 
with  "  boiler  plate  insides."  Merkle  had  a  friend 
there  also,  who  made  things  easy  for  him.  He  had 
to  call  around  at  the  office  of  the  Evening  Orb  too, 
to  resign  and  to  collect  what  salary  was  due  him 
and  to  say  good-bye  to  the  boys.  It  was  surprising 
how  friendly  everybody  was  and  how  many  good 
luck  wishes  he  took  away  with  him.  Even  the  cash- 
ier, a  grumpily  important  personage  who  never 
seemed  happy  unless  he  could  find  a  pretext  for  hold- 
ing up  expense  accounts,  wrung  his  hand  at  parting 
and  was  sorry  to  see  him  go. 
249 


25o  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Altogether  Merkle  spent  a  pleasant  and  profitable 
day.  He  had  never  held  so  good  an  opinion  of 
New  York  and  New  Yorkers  as  now,  when  he  was 
about  to  bid  them  good-bye.  He  ventured  to  inti- 
mate as  much  to  Summerfield  of  the  The  World, 
with  whom  he  was  having  a  farewell  drink,  and  was 
promptly  reminded  that  nine  out  of  every  ten  Amer- 
icans you  meet  in  New  York  come  from  the  West 
and  South,  Summerfield  stoutly  maintaining  the  the- 
ory that  the  percentage  of  the  native  born  was  not 
large  enough  to  corrupt  the  mass. 

As  for  Tom  and  Joe,  they  had  enough  to  keep 
them  busy.  Encouraged  by  the  luck  of  the  I3th, 
Joe  undertook  to  collect  certain  moneys  that  were 
long  owing  to  him,  and  actually  succeeded  in  drag- 
ging a  few  dollars  out  of  the  hands  of  reluctant 
debtors,  which  comforted  him  greatly. 

For  Joe,  it  developed,  had  not  played  his  hunch 
of  the  preceding  night  according  to  the  strict  rules 
for  such  cases  made  and  provided.  After  placing 
his  whole  stake  on  the  "  13  "  and  cashing,  as  was 
to  be  expected,  he  had  been  unable  to  resist  the 
temptation  to  venture  a  portion  of  his  own  share  of 
the  winnings  on  the  prospects  of  a  "  repeater,"  a 
thing  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  do,  but  which  his  ex- 
perience should  have  told  him,  was  pushing  a  good 
thing  too  far.  This  time  the  "  13  "  failed  him  and 
Joe  unwilling  to  pocket  his  loss,  was  under  the  ne- 
cessity of  seeing  the  thing  through.  For  a  time 


THE  INVASION  OF  FAIRFIEW      251 

fortune  and  his  hopes  had  wavered,  then  a  succes- 
sion of  losses,  inciting  him  to  reckless  play,  had 
swept  away  the  greater  portion  of  his  winnings. 
But  luck  turned  at  last  just  as  despair  was  clutching 
at  his  heart  strings,  and  he  had  left  the  table  with 
several  hundred  dollars  more  than  his  "  hunch  "  en- 
titled him  to.  He  had  had  a  bad  hour,  but,  as  Joe 
put  it,  in  relating  the  story  to  Merkle  and  Tom :  "  I 
got  the  money." 

It  was  a  story  he  would  gladly  have  left  untold, 
for  he  felt  that  it  was  a  revelation  of  his  own  moral 
weakness.  But  the  fatness  of  his  roll  had  to  be 
accounted  for  and  he  confessed.  Merkle  had  been 
unwilling  to  add  the  surplus  to  the  common  fund, 
holding  that,  as  the  extra  risk  had  all  been  Joe's,  his 
should  be  the  extra  winnings.  But  Joe  had  stoutly 
held  the  contrary  and  had  persisted  in  his  contrari- 
ness to  the  extent  of  flatly  refusing  to  enter  into  any 
partnership  which  should  not  include  the  total  re- 
sources of  the  trio.  Tom's  share  included  little  ex- 
cept the  use  of  his  Fairview  home,  and  he  felt  un- 
comfortably like  a  pauper  at  the  sight  of  all  this 
wealth,  but  the  others  succeeded  in  convincing  him 
that,  as  he  had  originated  the  idea  which  was  to 
make  them  all  affluent,  he  was  certainly  entitled  to 
an  equal  share  in  the  venture. 

And  then,  all  three  together  had  made  a  shopping 
tour.  Merkle  had  insisted  that  this  be  done.  It 
was  his  notion  that  the  trio  must  descend  upon  Fair- 


252  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

view  looking  like  "  ready  money,"  and  that  the  cash 
spent  on  clothes  and  other  personal  furnishings 
would  be  the  most  effective  part  of  their  investment. 
His  counsels  prevailed. 

Merkle,  who  was  to  represent  the  editorial  dig- 
nity of  the  new  establishment,  was  outfitted  all 
in  sober  black,  including  a  frock  coat  that  hung 
about  him  with  the  classic  impressiveness  of  a 
toga. 

Tom,  the  publisher  and  financial  man,  was  a  pic- 
ture of  prosperous  elegance  in  soft  gray  business  at- 
tire. 

Joe's  predilection  for  checks  and  vivid  colors 
could  not  be  entirely  repressed,  but  his  display  was 
reduced  to  a  minimum  with  which  Merkle  professed 
himself  satisfied.  When  they  sailed  forth  from  the 
Bannan  boarding  house  for  the  last  time,  on  their 
way  to  the  train,  Mrs.  Bannan  was  ready  to  weep  at 
seeing  so  much  of  prosperity  and  distinction  desert- 
ing her  roof  and  board,  and  when  Merkle,  on  the 
sidewalk,  lifted  his  glossy  silk  hat  to  her  in  parting 
salute,  she  fled  to  her  room  and  would  not  be  com- 
forted, not  even  by  the  faithful  Leitz. 

It  must  be  said  that  none  of  the  Bannanites  had 
been  taken  into  the  confidence  of  the  trio  as  to  the 
fashion  of  their  sudden  enrichment.  Merkle,  with 
some  difficulty,  had  succeeded  in  making  Joe  real- 
ize the  Fairview  point  of  view  on  gambling  hells,  a 
point  of  view  which,  considered  in  the  abstract, 


THE  INVASION  OF  FAIRVIEW      253 

Merkle  upheld.  So  it  was  agreed  that  the  manner 
of  their  capitalization  should  remain  a  secret,  and 
such  it  has  remained  unto  this  day. 

The  long  journey  across  the  Empire  State  passed 
swiftly.  Their  fellow  passengers,  whiling  away  the 
weary  hours  with  scenery  and  literature,  gazed  en- 
viously at  the  three  men,  of  types  so  diverse,  who 
yet  seemed  to  have  so  much  of  common  interest  to 
talk  about.  Tom  alone,  and  he  only  as  they  neared 
Fairview,  seemed  a  trifle  disturbed,  and  Merkle 
who  fancied  he  knew  what  was  passing  in  the  boy's 
mind,  took  pains  to  engage  him  in  an  intricate  dis- 
cussion of  ways  and  means,  with  such  success  that 
Tom  forgot  for  a  while  the  plunge  he  was  nerving 
himself  to  take. 

It  was  only  when  they  were  within  sight  of  the 
village  that  he  remembered. 

He  had  happened  to  glance  from  the  window  as 
the  engine  whistled  loudly  for  a  crossing.  They 
were  whizzing  by  the  Hemingway  farm,  scene  of 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  slaughter  of  the  black  pigs. 
The  picture  rose  sharply  before  his  mind's  eye,  just 
as  he  had  seen  it  across  the  radiator  of  his  automo- 
bile on  that  memorable  morning,  and  his  muscles 
drew  taut  as  if  he  was  grasping  the  steering  wheel 
once  more.  Again  he  felt  the  shock  of  collision  and 
heard  the  farmer's  taunting  words,  and  then,  in 
swift  succession,  came  all  the  episodes  of  that  Oc- 
tober 'day,  when  he  had  taken  up  the  gauntlet 


254  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

fate  threw  down  to  him  and  gone  forth  confidently 
to  tilt  with  fortune. 

What  a  mess  he  had  made  of  everything.  His 
lips  curled  with  wholesome  self-contempt  at  the 
thought.  Well,  he  still  had  a  chance  to  make  good, 
thanks  to  his  two  good  friends,  and  he  must  not  fail 
them.  He  set  his  jaws  hard  as  the  train  slowed  for 
the  Fairview  stop,  and  he  was  ready  to  take  his 
medicine. 

After  all,  it  was  nothing  so  terrible.  Merkle 
nodded  to  Joe  to  go  ahead,  and  himself  brought  up 
the  rear  as  they  emerged  upon  the  platform. 
There  was  the  usual  Saturday  night  convention  on 
hand,  a  mixture  of  ordinary  platform  loafers  and 
of  townspeople  of  the  better  sort,  assembled  to  wel- 
come returning  relatives  or  friends.  Tom  knew 
every  face,  and  met  with  urgent  greetings  on  every 
hand,  but  Joe  and  Merkle  hustled  him  through  the 
crowd  and  into  one  of  the  waiting  hacks  and  away. 

A  telegram  had  warned  Mrs.  Wilson  of  their 
coming,  and,  after  the  first  greetings  between  Tom 
and  his  mother,  and  when  introductions  had  been 
duly  accomplished,  Merkle  took  charge  of  the  situ- 
ation. Supper  was  waiting  for  them,  and  while  they 
plied  their  forks,  Merkle  had  so  much  to  say  of 
Tom,  and  of  Tom's  plans  for  the  newspaper,  and 
of  the  good  luck  that  had  been  his  and  Joe's  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  Tom  and  thus  be  enabled  to 
unite  their  fortunes  with  his,  that  Tom's  mother  was 


THE  INVASION  OF  FAIRVIEW      255 

proud  and  delighted  and  fell  in  love  with  Merkle  in 
five  minutes  and  wondered  greatly  at  his  wisdom. 
And  Tom,  secretly  ashamed  for  himself,  could  not 
help  loving  Merkle  either  when  he  saw  his  mother's 
beaming  face  and  realized  all  that  his  friend  was 
doing  for  her  happiness  and  for  his. 

Joe  did  his  best  too,  but  he  was  a  sort  of  creature 
Mrs.  Wilson  had  never  come  in  contact  with  before, 
and  she  found  it  a  trifle  difficult  to  understand  his 
New  Yorkese.  Nevertheless  he  too  seemed  very 
fond  of  Tom,  as  nearly  as  she  could  make  out  his 
meaning,  and  very  grateful  to  be  admitted  to  per- 
sonal and  business  association  with  him,  and  Mrs. 
Wilson  adopted  him  into  her  family  on  that  account 
and  began  to  find  him  very  amusing,  when  his  re- 
marks were  properly  translated. 

Next  day  was  Sunday,  with  nothing  to  do  but  go 
to  church,  an  ordeal  Tom  had  been  dreading,  be- 
cause everybody  he  knew  would  be  there,  including 
Jane  and  her  father. 

Joe  was  invited  to  go  along,  but  balked.  He  had 
no  objections,  he  explained,  to  doing  business  with 
Christians  or  even  to  associating  with  them  on  a 
friendly  basis  during  the  six  days  of  the  week  when 
Christianity  didn't  cut  much  ice;  but  he  had  con- 
scientious scruples  against  mingling  with  them  in 
their  moments  of  religious  activity.  There  being 
no  synagogue  in  the  village,  Joe  was  allowed  to 
stay  at  home. 


25 6  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

But  Tom  and  Merkle  occupied  seats  in  Mrs.  Wil- 
son's pew,  very  near  the  front,  and  fairly  divided 
attention  with  the  minister,  whose  sermon  dealt,  in 
a  rather  dreary  vein,  with  the  vanity  of  worldly  suc- 
cess. 

When  the  service  had  ended  Mrs.  Wilson  must 
needs  introduce  Mr.  Merkle  to  the  minister.  It 
proved  that  both  gentlemen  were  products  of  the 
same  Western  University,  and  when  the  clergyman 
ascertained,  in  the  course  of  his  questionings,  that 
Merkle  had  acquired  the  degree  of  Ph.  D.  from 
their  common  alma  mater,  he  immediately  began 
calling  him  Dr.  Merkle  and  insisted  upon  it,  and 
introduced  him  as  such  to  several  of  the  pillars  of 
the  congregation,  who  were  much  impressed  with 
Dr.  Merkle  and  were  indeed  delighted  that  a  gentle- 
man of  such  erudition  and  with  such  an  air  of  met- 
ropolitan distinction,  was  to  settle  down  among  them 
in  order  to  provide  Fairview  with  the  chief  thing 
it  lacked  —  a  newspaper  of  the  sort  that  the  village 
would  be  proud  to  possess. 

Merkle  accepted  the  honors  thrust  upon  him  with 
charming  urbanity.  It  may  be  remarked  in  passing 
that,  having  been  introduced  to  Fairview  as  Dr. 
Merkle,  the  title  stuck,  and  he  was  obliged  to  live 
up  to  it  ever  after.  Mrs.  Wilson  began  calling  him 
Doctor  on  the  way  home  from  church  and,  except 
to  Tom,  he  was  never  plain  Merkle  again.  Joe, 
who  might  have  been  expected  to  remain  loyal  to 


THE  INFASION  OF  VAIRVIEW.      257 

the  old  order  of  things,  took  great  delight  in  re- 
ferring to  his  friend  as  "  the  old  doctor  "  in  the 
third  person  and  dubbing  him  plain  "  Doc  "  in  the 
second.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  the  title  justified 
the  editorial  insignia  of  frock  coat  and  silk  hat,  both 
of  which  he  had  found  it  hard  to  reconcile  to  his 
sense  of  the  eternal  fitness. 

Tom  did  not  see  Jane  that  day.  The  Judge's 
pew  was  unoccupied.  His  eyes  searched  furtively 
for  her  elsewhere,  but  in  vain.  He  gleaned 
presently,  from  something  a  gossiping  neighbor  said 
to  his  mother,  that  Jane  and  her  father  were  away 
on  a  visit,  somewhere  in  the  West,  and  he  did  not 
know  whether  to  be  sorry  or  glad,  for,  although  his 
eyes  hungered  for  a  glimpse  of  her,  he  dreaded 
their  first  face-to-face  meeting,  now  that  she  was 
pledged  in  some  fashion  to  another.  And  that 
other,  Hez  Jenks !  It  was  all  so  incredible  that  he 
almost  allowed  himself  to  think  of  it  at  times  as  a 
hideous  dream. 

It  rained  and  drizzled  all  of  Monday  and 
Tuesday  and  at  Joe's  earnest  entreaty,  they  kept  to 
the  house.  Joe,  in  his  lifetime,  had  sold  every- 
thing, from  shoestrings  to  mining  stock.  He  had 
been  a  keen  student  of  business  psychology  and, 
even  if  his  methods  were  empirical,  his  conclusions 
were  generally  sound.  He  vowed  that  it  would  be 
ruinous  to  start  out  in  such  weather  to  sell  Fairview 
a  newspaper.  So  long  as  the  skies  remained  leaden 


258  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

and  overcast,  he  argued,  just  so  long  would  the 
minds  of  Fairview's  leading  business  men  continue 
to  be  gloomy,  depressed  and  unreceptive.  The 
success  of  their  enterprise  depended  upon  gaining 
the  advertising  support  of  said  leading  business  men. 
Very  well.  Wait  until  they  became  gay  and  per- 
suasible  again  —  when  it  had  stopped  raining. 

Joe's  wisdom  could  be  neither  gainsaid  nor 
resisted,  and  they  waited  as  patiently  as  might  be, 
though  Tom,  in  the  throes  of  nervous  reaction  after 
the  ordeal  of  the  last  two  or  three  days,  found  his 
enforced  inaction  almost  intolerable  at  first.  But 
the  necessity  of  keeping  up  appearances  before  his 
mother  enabled  him  to  hold  himself  in  hand. 
Then  too,  he  found  himself  getting  interested  in 
Joe's  theories  of  salesmanship,  and  together  they 
drew  up  a  general  plan  of  attack,  with  variations  to 
suit  the  idiosyncrasies  of  every  important  man  on 
their  list.  Tom  supplied  the  information,  Joe  the 
expedients. 

When  the  skies  cleared  at  last,  Tom  plunged  into 
the  work  with  a  determination  that  was  proof 
against  rebuff. 

Merkle,  despite  a  painful  attack  of  rheumatism, 
brought  on  by  the  dampness,  set  him  an  example  of 
cheerful  pluck  which  would  have  shamed  him  into 
a  like  display,  if  such  incentive  had  been  needed. 
But  Tom  was  actuated  by  motives  stronger  than 
any  that  Merkle  could  supply,  motives  so  obscure 


THE  INFASION  OF  FAIRVIEW      259; 

that  Tom  himself  did  not  so  much  as  acknowledge 
their  existence,  not,  at  least,  in  his  waking  thoughts. 
He  only  knew  that  he  leaped  from  his  bed  each 
morning  with  a  resistless  impulse  to  be  at  work,  to 
be  making  good  —  an  impulse  that  carried  him 
along  at  a  swift,  tireless  pace  which  disregarded  the 
length  and  difficulty  of  the  road  and  the  goal  to 
which  it  might  lead. 

It  was  nearly  a  month  before  the  first  issue  of 
The  Fairview  Herald  appeared.  After  that  its 
ultimate  success  seemed  never  in  doubt.  Nor  did 
Tom's.  In  those  four  weeks  he  had  regained  his 
poise  and  had  begun  to  grasp  at  the  beginnings  of 
something  better  —  a  subtle  mastery  of  self  and  cir- 
cumstance that  was  new  to  his  philosophy.  It  was 
a  quality,  the  effects  of  which  he  had  dimly  appre- 
hended and  envied  in  men  like  Merkle,  for  instance, 
but  of  the  existence  and  nature  of  which  he  had  been 
alike  ignorant. 

So  Tom  and  The  Herald  won  their  way 
through  their  respective  periods  of  probation  and 
plugged  along  together  through  the  Summer  and 
early  Fall,  accumulating  reserve  funds  against  the 
day  when  certain  obligations  should  fall  due. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TOM  GOES  WALKING 

IT  fell  to  Tom  himself,  in  his  role  of  publisher,  to 
set  The  Herald's  day  of  reckoning,  the  day 
when  the  newspaper  must  strike  balances  and  show 
that  it  had  made  good.  He  fixed  upon  a  day  in 
late  October,  a  day  like  any  other  in  the  office  calen- 
dar, but  which  was  stamped  in  red  letters  upon  his 
own.  It  was  exactly  one  year  from  the  time  of  his 
boastful  exit  from  Fairview.  He  had  made  a  cov- 
enant then  —  given  a  boyish  promise  that  was  no 
longer  binding,  because  the  consideration  had  been 
withdrawn,  but  it  pleased  him  to  carry  it  out  never- 
theless. 

He  had  disclosed  his  purpose  to  Merkle  and  Joe, 
so  far  as  it  concerned  The  'Herald,  and  had 
shaped  their  labors  and  his  own  toward  the  ap- 
pointed day.  As  it  drew  near,  he  spoke  of  it  often, 
with  an  insistent,  mysterious  emphasis  that  im- 
pressed them  both,  so  that,  though  neither  of  them 
could  fathom  his  reasons  for  choosing  that  day 
rather  than  any  other,  they  had  both  come  to  look 
forward  to  it  as  something  critical  and  important. 

They  were  surprised  therefore  when  he  left  the 
office  without  a  word  on  the  momentous  morning, 
260 


TOM  GOES  WALKING  261 

and  did  not  reappear.  They  would  have  been  more 
surprised  if  they  could  have  followed  his  move- 
ments. He  walked  rapidly  through  the  village,  and 
out  upon  the  road  that  led  to  the  lake.  Soon  he 
had  left  the  last  house  in  Fairview  behind  him,  had 
passed  the  Hemingway  farm  and  entered  the  valley 
beyond.  Not  till  then  did  his  pace  slacken.  Now 
he  slowed  to  a  saunter  and  began  to  look  about  him 
at  the  well-remembered  countryside,  as  though  he 
realized  for  the  first  time  whither  his  legs  had  car- 
ried him. 

It  had  been  an  unthinking  impulse,  born  of  a  sud- 
den fit  of  restlessness,  that  had  led  Tom  to  snatch 
up  his  hat,  hurry  out  of  the  office,  and  set  forth  upon 
this  aimless  excursion.  Now  the  fit  had  been  walked 
off,  but  it  had  brought  him  so  far  that  he  decided  he 
might  as  well  go  on  to  the  lake. 

He  was  hot  and  tired  when  he  reached  the  shore, 
and  he  bent  his  steps  involuntarily  towards  a  shaded 
seat  that  commanded  a  good  view  of  the  lake.  It 
was  a  nook  where  he  and  Jane  had  often  sat  to- 
gether the  summer  before  and  looked  out  upon  the 
dancing  waves  and  watched  the  cloud  shadows 
chase  one  another  across  the  water.  He  sat  there 
for  a  long  time,  his  eyes  roving  lazily  over  the 
peaceful  scene  before  him. 

A  cold  breeze  from  the  surface  of  the  lake  fanned 
his  hot  cheek.  A  stronger  puff  set  something  white 
to  fluttering  in  the  grass  near  his  feet.  He  stooped 


262  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

forward  and  picked  up  a  handkerchief.  He  looked 
at  it  idly  for  a  moment,  then  an  exclamation  broke 
from  his  lips  and  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

The  handkerchief  was  Jane's!  There  were  her 
initials  in  the  corner,  broidered  in  a  pattern  he  knew. 
He  examined  the  handkerchief  again,  more  closely. 

It  was  as  white  and  fresh  as  though  it  had  just 
dropped  from  the  owner's  hand.  It  could  not  have 
lain  long  in  the  grass,  not  more  than  a  day,  at  most. 
Jane  must  have  been  here,  on  the  very  spot  where 
he  stood,  yesterday  at  the  latest,  perhaps  this  very 
morning.  She  must  have  motored  out  here.  She 
must  have  sat  in  this  very  seat,  and  — -. 

And  with  Hez  Jenks ! 

The  thought  was  maddening.  It  sent  the  blood 
surging  furiously  to  his  head.  Was  it  possible  that 
Jane  had  brought  Hez  here,  to  their  old  place? 
Did  the  old  days  mean  nothing  to  her  now?  He 
began  to  look  about  him,  for  traces  of  Hez's  pres- 
ence, footprints  perhaps.  When  he  realized  how 
he  was  playing  the  spy,  he  stopped,  ashamed,  and 
deliberately  resumed  his  former  attitude  on  the 
bench. 

A  minute's  reflection  helped  him.  It  could  not 
be.  It  wasn't  like  Jane  to  do  such  a  thing  as  that. 
She  must  have  come  alone.  And,  if  she  had  —  he 
did  not  trust  himself  to  follow  the  thought  to  a  con- 
clusion. 

But  he  began  to  remember  things.     He  had  no- 


TOM  GOES  WALKING  263 

ticed  that  Jane  often  drove  about  alone  now  in  the 
Judge's  big  car.  Sometimes  she  was  with  girl 
friends.  Sometimes  he  had  seen  her  with  Hez 
Jenks,  but  —  the  significance  of  it  flashed  across  his 
mind  for  the  first  time  —  she  never  rode  in  the  driv- 
er's seat  with  Hez,  always  in  the  tonneau.  It  had 
never  been  like  that  when  Tom  was  at  the  wheel. 

He  rose  again,  and  began  to  pace  excitedly  up  and 
down  a  little  strip  of  smooth  beach,  unmindful  of  the 
hot  sun.  For  the  first  time  since  that  terrible  night 
in  New  York,  when  he  had  received  the  letter  from 
home  which  told  of  Jane's  forthcoming  marriage, 
he  dared  to  allow  his  thoughts  to  dwell  upon  the 
whole  miserable  affair.  Now  that  he  was  in  his 
right  mind  and  could  look  at  the  thing  sanely  and 
soberly,  it  was  not  believable  that  Jane  was  to  marry 
Hez  Jenks.  In  fact,  at  the  unconscious  bottom  of 
his  soul,  he  had  come  to  disbelieve  it  with  a  certainty 
that  had  given  him  comfort. 

There  must  have  been  some  basis  for  the  report, 
of  course,  just  what  he  could  not  imagine.  Judge 
Belknap  was  probably  at  the  bottom  of  it,  somehow. 
Of  course,  it  must  have  happened  that  way.  Jane 
had  been  bullied  or  beguiled  into  something  like  as- 
sent to  his  plans.  That  was  all.  The  conviction 
came  to  him  suddenly  and  surely,  as  he  walked  up 
and  down,  though  he  felt  that  he  had  known  it  in 
some  fashion  all  the  time. 

He  had  hardly  met  Jane  since  his  return,  except 


264  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

as  strangers  meet.  He  had  not  sought  her. 
When,  on  one  or  two  occasions,  they  had  happened! 
upon  each  other  at  some  village  gathering,  they  had 
exchanged  only  the  most  casual  of  greetings,  not  a 
dozen  words  in  all.  He  saw  Hez  almost  every  day. 
Hez  had  begun  by  dodging  across  the  street  when 
he  saw  Tom  approaching,  but,  when  he  found  that 
there  was  nothing  to  be  feared  from  Tom,  he  grew 
bolder,  and  spoke  to  him  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened between  them. 

Tom  had  not  rebuffed  him.  He  had  rather 
liked  to  see  Hez  about.  Now  he  knew  why.  It 
was  not  the  loss  of  Jane  —  that  was  bad  enough  — 
but  the  thought  that  she  was  to  be  consigned  to  the 
arms  of  Hez  Jenks,  that  had  been  the  crudest  pang 
of  his  night  of  torture.  And,  the  first  time  he  saw 
Hez  Jenks  slinking  across  the  street  after  his  return 
to  Fairview,  it  had  begun  to  be  impossible  to  re- 
gard him  seriously.  Hez  was  not  a  figure  to  in- 
spire jealous  rage.  So  Tom  had  come  to  look  upon 
him  with  something  like  toleration.  If  he  could 
have  known  that  it  was  Hez,  who  had  slyly  set 
afloat  the  report  which  had  caused  that  letter  to  be 
written,  he  might  have  been  less  serene. 

Tom  looked  at  the  sun.  It  was  near  noon,  and 
he  decided  to  go  on  to  a  little  hotel  on  the  lake  shore 
and  have  luncheon  there  before  he  began  the  long 
walk  back  to  Fairview.  He  fared  sumptuously  on 
fried  chicken.  Afterwards  he  sat  on  the  veranda 


TOM  GOES  WALKING  265 

for  an  hour  chatting  with  the  landlord,  and  it  was 
three  o'clock  before  he  roused  himself  to  the  neces- 
sity of  getting  back  to  the  office.  He  had  forgotten 
what  an  important  day  it  was  to  have  been  for  The 
lHerald  and  that  the  boys  would  be  wondering  what 
had  become  of  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Tom 
knew  almost  to  a  cent  how  the  business  stood,  and 
that  it  wouldn't  take  him  ten  minutes  to  strike  a 
balance  and  render  his  report  to  his  partners.  But 
he  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  lazy  yawn,  bade  the  chatty 
landlord  good-day,  and  started  back. 

There  was  no  need  to  hurry,  and  he  went  along 
leisurely,  enjoying  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  afternoon 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  many  months,  finding  his 
own  thoughts  no  bad  company.  He  was  in  his  old 
buoyant  mood  again,  the  world  looked  good  to  him. 
As  for  the  future  —  he  refrained  from  thinking  of 
that,  but  hope  was  singing  a  small,  inarticulate  song 
in  his  breast,  and  he  whistled  in  harmony  with  it  as 
he  marched  along. 

The  highway  was  deserted  that  afternoon.  He 
met  nobody.  Except  for  an  occasional  solitary 
figure,  working  in  the  distant  fields,  he  saw  no  sign 
of  human  life  until  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  road 
at  the  Hemingway  farm.  There,  hanging  across 
the  gate,  lounged  his  ancient  enemy,  watching  his 
Approach. 

Tom's  impulse  was  to  walk  by  without  a  word, 
but  Farmer  Hemingway  grinned  in  friendly  fashion 


266  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

as  he  drew  near  and  called  out  to  him.  Tom 
stopped  and  the  farmer  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Wilson,"  he  said.  "  I've  ben  in- 
tendin'  to  come  and  see  you.  The  missus  says  I 
gotter  subscribe  fer  your  paper." 

"  Our  subscription  terms,"  said  Tom  suspiciously, 
"  are  cash  in  advance." 

Without  hesitation  Farmer  Hemingway  drew 
forth  his  wallet  and  produced  the  price.  "  There," 
he  said.  "  The  missus  seen  your  paper  over  to  her 
brother  Henry's  house  last  week  and  she's  bound 
and  determined  fer  us  to  take  it  too.  Send  it  right 
along,  will  you  ?  " 

Tom  inquired  politely  after  the  welfare  of  his 
new  patron's  family  and  live  stock,  invited  him  to 
visit  The  Herald  office,  and  went  on  his  way  well 
pleased.  A  year  ago  Tom  had  been  the  butt  of  the 
farmer's  ridicule.  To-day  the  farmer  called  him 
Mr.  Wilson. 

When  Tom  reached  the  office  at  last,  he  found 
that  the  others  had  left  for  the  day.  He  set  to 
work  at  once,  for  it  was  growing  late  and  he  wanted 
to  get  home  by  supper  time.  First  of  all,  with  a  grin 
of  satisfaction,  he  entered  up  Farmer  Hemingway's 
payment,  and  put  his  name  on  the  mailing  list. 

Tom's  task  must  have  taken  him  longer  than  he 
had  expected,  for  he  did  not  appear  at  the  cottage 
in  time  for  supper,  and,  when  Merkle  had  com- 
pleted his  meal  and  risen  with  a  sigh  of  contentment 


TOM  GOES  WALKING  267 

to  light  his  post-prandial  pipe,  the  head  of  the  house 
was  still  missing.  Merkle  seated  himself  comfort- 
ably in  a  rocker  by  the  empty  fireplace  and  watched 
Joe,  who  was  still  busy  with  his  knife  and  fork. 
Mrs.  Wilson  entered  from  the  kitchen  and  rescued 
the  remainder  of  the  pie,  upon  which  Joe  seemed 
to  be  contemplating  fresh  inroads. 

"  I  could  stand  an  encore  on  that  pie,"  said  Joe, 
following  its  retreat  with  regretful  eyes. 

"  I'm  saving  the  rest  for  Tom,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
son. "  Huckleberry  is  his  favorite." 

Joe  felt  that  he  was  rebuked,  and  was  silent. 
Mrs.  Wilson  turned  to  Merkle  with  an  anxious 
look.  "Did  he  say  when  he  was  coming?"  she 
asked. 

"  He'll  be  along  pretty  soon,"  said  Merkle  with 
cheerful  evasiveness.  "  He  had  some  special  work 
at  the  office  that  he  wanted  to  straighten  out." 

Mrs.  Wilson  carried  the  pie  to  the  sideboard, 
where  it  should  be  safe  from  Joe,  then  returned  to 
the  table. 

"  It's  a  shame  the  way  that  poor  boy  has  to  work," 
she  complained.  "  Can't  even  come  home  to  his 
supper  on  time.  And  he  looks  dreadful,  too.  Al- 
most worn  out." 

She  looked  accusingly,  first  at  Joe,  whose  mouth 
was  too  full  for  comfortable  utterance,  then  at 
Merkle,  who  was  reading  a  paper  and  puffing  plac- 
idly at  his  pipe. 


268  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  I  don't  think  he  looks  so  rotten,"  said  Merkle. 
He  was  comparing  the  new  Tom,  radiant  with 
health  and  enthusiasm,  with  the  Tom  of  those  last 
few  weeks  in  New  York  and  thinking  what  a  marvel- 
ous change  a  few  months  had  wrought  in  the  boy. 
Though  Merkle  did  not  realize  it,  the  change  in 
himself  was  fully  as  obvious. 

But  Tom's  mother,  not  being  in  the  secret  of  his 
thoughts,  resented  the  apparent  carelessness  of  his 
reply,  and  retorted  with  a  sharpness  unusual  for  her. 

"  Couldn't  expect  you  to  notice  it,"  she  said, 
starting  for  the  kitchen  with  a  tray  of  dishes.  "  If 
some  folks  would  do  their  share  of  work,  my  boy 
would  get  time  to  eat  something." 

"Do  I  get  anything  to  drink  with  this?"  Joe 
called  plaintively  after  her. 

"  I'll  bring  you  a  glass  of  water,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
son shortly,  and  went  out. 

At  the  mention  of  water  Joe  rose  from  the  table 
with  a  puckered  mouth.  He  turned  appealingly  to 
Merkle,  who  was  watching  him  with  amusement 
over  the  top  of  his  paper. 

"  Can  you  beat  it?  "  he  asked.  He  stretched 
himself  and  yawned  the  yawn  of  complete  boredom., 
"  Gee!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  wish  I  was  back  where  I 
could  see  the  lights." 

"  Oh,  stick  it  out,"  growled  Merkle,  returning  to 
his  paper.  But  Joe  would  not  be  put  down.  He; 
was  in  a  mood  to  wail  and  wail  he  would,  whether; 
anybody  sympathized  or  not. 


TOM  GOES  WALKING  269 

'  On  the  level,  old  pal,"  he  said.  "  It  has  my 
nanny.  I  feel  like  I  was  doing  time." 

"  This  country  thing  is  just  what  you  needed,"  re- 
plied Merkle.  "  Why,"  he  continued  in  flattering 
tones,  "  you're  looking  better  than  you  ever  did  in 
your  life." 

Joe  smiled  a  languid  acknowledgment  of  the 
compliment  while  he  proceeded  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

"  Oh,  I'm  there  with  the  fatal  beauty,  all  right," 
he  conceded.  "  But,  what's  the  use?  There  isn't 
a  skirt  in  this  town  I'd  fall  for." 

He  lighted  his  cigarette,  but  after  one  deep  in- 
halation, tossed  it  impatiently  into  the  fireplace. 

"  Gee !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  deep  yearn- 
ing. "  When  I  think  of  the  nifty  gals  chasing 
around  Forty-second  street,  and  the  careless  way  I 
used  to  pass  them  up  —  honest  to  God,  I  get  re- 
morse." 

"  They'll  still  be  there  when  you  go  back,"  said 
Merkle,  in  a  conscientious  effort  to  soothe. 

"  Not  the  same  ones,"  mourned  Joe,  refusing  to 
be  comforted.  He  walked  over  to  Merkle. 
"  Say,"  he  asked  appealingly,  "  ain't  you  ever  lone- 
some for  the  Big  Lane?  " 

"  Not  me,"  said  Merkle.  "  I'm  happier  than 
I've  been  for  a  long  time." 

"  You  mean  that  you're  going  to  stick  to  this 
tank?  "  continued  Joe. 

"  As  long  as  God  lets  me,"  replied  Merkle  heart- 
ily. 


270  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Joe  looked  him  over  critically.  It  was  sucH  a 
look  as  an  alienist  might  bestow  upon  a  case  that 
promised  interesting  peculiarities. 

"  Nothing  like  that  in  my  family,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  I'd  rather  be  a  ripple  on  Broadway  than  a  whole 
tidal  wave  up  here.  And  to  think,"  he  moaned, 
"  I  came  up  here  of  my  own  free  will !  Gee ! 
That's  what  gets  me." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  the  place,"  said  Merkle. 
"  It's  nice  and  quiet." 

"  Quiet?  "  cried  Joe  in  wrathful  disgust.  "  Say, 
Merkle,  it's  so  quiet  that,  when  the  mosquitos  play 
around  my  window  at  night,  I  think  they're  bur- 
glars trying  to  break  in." 

"  Never  mind,  Joe,"  said  Merkle  with  a  laugh. 
"  You'll  soon  have  so  much  money  that  you  won't 
know  what  to  do  with  it.  That  Belknap  story  ought 
to  double  our  circulation." 

11  What  does  the  kid  think  about  it?  "  asked  Joe, 
with  a  cautious  glance  towards  the  kitchen  door. 

"  I  don't  think  he  knows,"  replied  Merkle  slowly. 
"  At  least  he  hasn't  mentioned  it." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  gravely  for  a 
moment,  but  before  either  could  speak  again,  there 
was  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  porch,  and  they  both 
turned  their  faces  to  the  door  expecting  to  see  Tom 
Wilson. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BELKNAP  SENDS  HIS  COMPLIMENTS 

BUT  it  wasn't  Tom.  Instea'd,  the  elongated 
figure  of  Hez  Jenks  appeared  in  the  doorway 
and  teetered  there  on  its  toes  as  if  its  owner  were 
doubtful  of  the  reception  that  awaited  it  inside. 
Joe  turned  to  Merkle  with  a  swift  wink,  and  strolled 
forward  to  welcome  the  visitor,  whose  errand  both 
men  had  instantly  divined. 

Hez  peered  apprehensively  about  the  room,  then, 
seeing  no  signs  of  his  arch-enemy,  stepped  inside, 
and  doffed  his  chauffeur's  cap  and  goggles  in  a  stiff 
salute. 

"  Howdy,"  he  said.  His  eyes  shifted  uneasily 
from  Joe  to  Merkle  and  back  to  Joe  again.  "  Tom 
Wilson  at  home?" 

"  Hello,  Joshua,"  cried  Joe  in  his  most  cordial 
tones.  He  walked  up  to  Hez  and  circled  silently 
around  him,  inspecting  his  automobile  costume  from 
every  angle  with  an  expression  of  delighted  admi- 
ration. "What's  the  big  noise?"  he  asked. 

Hez,  suspicious  of  Joe's  intentions,  had  kept  his 
face  to  the  foe  by  the  simple  expedient  of  revolving 
upon  his  heels.     Now,  seeing    that  Joe's  designs 
were  pacific,  he  repeated  his  question  sharply. 
271 


272  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

11  Judge  Belknap  sent  me  over  to  see  Tom  Wil- 
son," he  said.  "Where  is  he?" 

"  Over  at  the  office  counting  his  money,"  replied 
Joe,  with  an  airy  wave  of  the  hand  and  a  provoking 
grin. 

"  Guess  he  ain't  got  much  to  count,"  sniffed  Hez. 

"  Guess  again,"  said  Joe.  "  He  only  needs 
about  thirty  cents  more  to  have  a  million  dollars." 

Hez  turned  from  Joe  to  Merkle.  "  I  have  a 
message  for  Tom  Wilson,"  he  said,  "  but  perhaps 
you  will  do  as  well.  Judge  Belknap  says  that  piece 
you  put  in  the  paper  about  him  is  criminal  libel, 
and,  if  it  ain't  retracted  in  the  next  issue,  he'll  have 
you  all  arrested." 

Hez  delivered  the  Judge's  ultimatum  in  tones  of 
high-pitched  defiance,  looking  the  while  at  Merkle, 
as  if  he  expected  that  worthy  to  crumple  at  his  feet 
and  utter  loud  cries  for  mercy.  But  Merkle  who 
had  survived  the  wrath  of  greater  personages  than 
Judge  Belknap,  only  smiled  pleasantly.  Joe  cut  in. 

"  Hand  this  guy  a  rain  check,"  he  said  impa- 
tiently. But  Merkle  said  quietly  to  Hez : 

"  You  tell  the  old  man,  if  he  thinks  he's  got  any 
kick  coming,  he'd  better  come  around  himself." 

"  During  office  hours,"  supplemented  Joe. 
"  That  goes  for  you,  too,"  he  added. 

Hez  deemed  it  unwise  to  pursue  the  subject  in  the 
'face  of  Joe's  truculence.  Besides  he  had  a  scheme 
of  his  own  in  mind,  and  he  didn't  care  to  risk  being 


'BELKNAP.  SENDS  COMPLIMENTS      273 

ordered  out  of  the  house  before  he  could  speak  of  it. 

"  I  got  a  personal  complaint  to  make,"  he  said. 
"  You  forgot  to  put  in  that  piece  I  give  you  about 
my  engagement  to  Miss  Belknap." 

"Did  you  look  in  the  sporting  column?"  asked 
Joe,  blandly. 

"  'Tain't  in  there  nohow,"  snapped  Hez. 

"  Don't  see  how  we  let  that  get  by,"  said  Joe. 
**  But  we'll  run  it  in  the  next  issue.  Fifty  cents 
please." 

Hez  looked  at  Joe's  outstretched  hand  and  at 
Joe's  expectant  eye  with  manifestations  of  annoy- 
ance. 

"Fifty  cents!"  he  echoed.  "Why!  This  is 
news." 

Joe  shook  his  head  decisively.  "  Come  across, 
Josh,"  he  said.  "  Kick  in  with  the  jingle.  I'm 
sorry,  but  we  can't  marry  you  for  less  than  fifty, 
cents." 

"You  must  think  I'm  a  sucker,"  sneered  Hez, 
whose  face  had  been  slowly  turning  brick  red  under 
Joe's  mocking  insistence.  "  Fifty  cents,  huh ! 
Guess  you're  a  Jew,  ain't  you.  We  ain't  got  none 
of  them  in  this  village." 

"  That's  why  it's  a  village,"  explained  Joe,  with 
an  urbane  bow. 

Hez  turned  angrily  to  the  door.  "  I'll  go  over 
and  tell  Tom  Wilson,"  he  cried.  "  He  mightn't 
be  so  fresh." 


274  THE  COUNTRY  BOY, 

"  Did  you  ever  see  so  many  peeves  in  one  town?  " 
inquired  Joe  throwing  up  his  hands  in  a  hopeless 
gesture  as  Hez  made  his  way  out.  Mrs.  Wilson 
entered  from  the  kitchen  just  as  Hez  disappeared 
down  the  front  steps. 

"  Who  was  that?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  village  detective,"  replied  Joe,  "  looking 
for  the  kid." 

Mrs.  Wilson,  who  knew  by  experience  that  Joe's 
explanations  were  usually  more  unintelligible  than 
his  original  statements,  forbore  to  question  him  fur- 
ther. But  the  reference  to  Tom  renewed  her  anx- 
iety. 

"  I  wish  he'd  come  before  his  supper  gets  all 
cold,"  she  said.  "  What  do  you  suppose  is  keep- 
ing him?  " 

Merkle,  to  whom  the  question  was  chiefly  ad- 
dressed, rose  promptly  from  his  seat  and  walked 
over  to  her. 

"  Want  me  to  go  see?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied  hurriedly.  "  He  wouldn't 
like  it.  I  suppose,"  she  went  on  half-apologetically, 
"  I  oughtn't  to  worry  him  when  he  has  such  a  lot 
of  things  on  his  mind.  But  I  do  wish  he  had  some- 
body to  help  him."  She  looked  hard  at  Joe. 
"  Somebody  who  had  his  interest  at  heart,"  she 
added,  with  emphasis. 

Joe,  leaning  against  the  wall  near  the  door,  lifted 
his  shoulders  in  a  deprecatory  shrug. 


'BELKNAP  SENDS  COMPLIMENTS      275 

"  Outside  of  that  I'm  all  right,"  he  ventured. 
"  We  each  have  our  separate  department  to  look 
after,  mother,"  said  Merkle,  with  the  air  of  grave 
kindliness  which  he  always  assumed  when  Tom's 
mother  was  in  her  moods.  "iYou  mustn't  blame 
Joe  if  he  gets  through  first." 

"  I  don't  see  why  Tom's  worE  should  be  so  much 
harder,"  persisted  Tom's  mother.  "  It's  perfectly 
wonderful  how  he  manages  to  do  so  much." 

"  It  certainly  is,"  assented  Merkle,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  sound  Tom's  praises  in  a  manner  that 
brought  a  pleased  smile  to  his  mother's  face, 
when  Tom  himself  ran  up  the  steps  and  hurried 
into  the  room,  the  incarnation  of  youthful  health  and 
energy. 

"  Hello,  boys,"  he  cried.  "  Had  your  supper, 
I  suppose.  That's  right.  No  use  waiting  for  me. 
Hello,  mother— " 

He  tossed  his  hat  into  a  chair  and  kissed  her, 
while  Joe  watched  him  with  a  sympathetic  eye. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  he  said  sadly,  in  tones  loud 
enough  to  reach  Mrs.  Wilson's  ears.  "  Looking 
bad,  isn't  he?" 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  too  busy  for  the  moment  being 
kissed  to  make  immediate  reply,  and  Tom,  seeing 
that  something  was  amiss,  spoke  quickly. 

"  Hope  I  haven't  put  you  out,"  he  said  to  his 

mother.     "  A  lot  of  things  I  had  to  fix  up  to-night/* 

"  I  was  beginning  to  think  you'd  never  come," 


276  THE  COUNTRY  BOY. 

she  replied,  with  querulous  tenderness.  "  You  look 
all  worn  out" 

Tom  laughed  heartily.  "  Nonsense,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  feeling  fine." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  feel  any  better  than  you  look," 
grumbled  Joe.  "  First  thing  we  know  you'll  be 
posing  around  the  country  as  a  white  hope  and  we'll 
be  hunting  for  another  publisher." 

"  Sit  right  down,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  ig- 
noring Joe's  remark.  She  bustled  about  Tom  at 
the  table.  "  I'm  afraid  everything  is  cold  now,  but 
I  couldn't  help  it." 

"  Anything  will  do,"  said  Tom,  unthinkingly,  as 
he  took  his  place  at  the  table.  "  I'm  not  very 
hungry." 

".You  poor  boy,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  tri- 
umphantly reproachful  look  at  the  others.  "  I  just 
know  you're  overdoing  it." 

She  hurried  away  to  the  kitchen.  Merkle  went 
back  to  his  chair  in  the  chimney  corner.  Joe  seated 
himself  at  the  table  across  from  Tom.  There  was 
an  expectant  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  I  have  it  all  straightened 
out." 

"  How  do  we  stand,"  asked  Merkle. 

"  Over  four  hundred  to  the  good,"  replied  Tom. 
"  Our  plant  all  paid  for  and  not  a  bill  out  against 


BELKNAP  SENDS  COMPLIMENTS      277 

Merkle  smiled  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  Joe 
twisted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  That  four  hundred?  "  he  inquired.  "  Is  it  red 
coin?  " 

Tom  nodded.     "  Net  profit,"  he  said. 

"  Fine,"  said  Joe. 

"  Not  so  bad  for  a  start,"  growled  Merkle. 

There  was  another  period  of  silence,  broken  by 
Tom. 

"  The  question  now,"  he  suggested,  "  is,  what  to 
'do  with  it." 

"  Cut  it  three  ways,  of  course,"  said  Joe  quickly. 

"  How  about  getting  the  new  press? "  This 
from  Merkle's  corner. 

"  We  need  it  badly,"  said  Tom. 

Joe  jumped  to  his  feet.  "  Nix  on  that  improve- 
ment stuff,"  he  expostulated.  "Me  for  the  big 
dividend." 

"  I  hate  to  disappoint  you,  Joe,"  said  Tom,  after 
a  momentary  pause,  in  which  he  and  Merkle  ex- 
changed glances.  "  But  I  think  we  ought  to  en- 
large the  plant  as  soon  as  possible.  The  fact  that 
we  have  been  able  to  make  good  with  the  old  stuff 
shows  what  we  could  do  with  an  up-to-date  press. 
We  could  make  it  twice  as  big  and  throw  off  twice 
as  many." 

"That's  the  dope,"  said  Merkle.  "I'm  with 
the  kid." 


278  THE  COUNTRY,  BOY 

Joe,  taken  by  surprise  at  this  unexpected  coali- 
tion, entered  vehement  protest. 

"  You  guys  give  me  a  pain,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  We  work  our  heads  off  to  pile  up  four  hundred 
bucks,  and  now  you  want  to  put  it  all  into  some  more 
junk." 

"  It'll  pay  for  itself  in  no  time,"  argued  Tom. 

"  Surest  thing  you  know,"  assented  Merkle. 

Joe  looked  appealingly  from  one  to  the  other, 
then  sank  dejectedly  into  a  chair. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  in  tones  that  indicated  that 
it  was  anything  but  all  right  in  his  estimation.  "  I 
can  see  myself  beating  it  for  home  on  the  trucks." 

Tom  and  Merkle  looked  anxiously  at  each  other. 
Merkle,  especially,  was  worried  at  Joe's  implied 
threat  of  desertion,  for  he  knew  better  than  Tom 
how  homesick  Joe  had  become,  and  how,  now  that 
the  novelty  of  their  venture  had  worn  off,  the  simple 
pleasures  of  village  life  palled  upon  him.  Before 
either  could  trust  himself  to  reply,  Mrs.  Wilson  re- 
turned from  the  kitchen  and  placed  Tom's  supper 
before  him.  She  regarded  the  conferees  with  dis- 
favor. 

"  Now  how  do  you  suppose  he's  going  to  eat  if 
you  talk  to  him  all  the  time,"  she  scolded.  "  No 
wonder  he's  getting  thin." 

"  Now,  mother  — "  Tom  began. 

"  I  won't  say  another  word,  deari"  she  inter- 
rupted quickly.  "  Only  I  do  wish  you  would  look 


'BELKNAP  SENDS  COMPLIMENTS      279 

after  your  health.  Would  you  like  some  cold 
tea?" 

u  Just  a  glass  of  water,"  said  Tom.  She  went 
back  into  the  kitchen. 

Joe  surveyed  Tom's  dainty  meal  with  a  critical 
feye. 

"  You're  the  star  here,  all  right,"  he  grumbled, 
with  a  grin  at  Merkle.  "  We  didn't  have  any  of 
that,  did  we,  Doc?  " 

"  Help  yourself,"  said  Tom,  busy  with  his  nap- 
kin. 

"  Haven't  room  for  it  now,"  confessed  Joe  reluc- 
tantly, and  contented  himself  with  munching  a 
pickle. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  the  estimate  was  on 
that  new  stuff?  "  asked  Merkle. 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  Tom.  "But  here's 
their  letter.  Read  it." 

Merkle  glanced  through  the  letter.  "Three 
hundred  and  fifty  down  and  the  balance  in  notes," 
he  announced. 

"  That's  easy  enough,"  said  Tom.  "  What  do 
you  think?" 

"I'll  go  along,"  replied  Merkle.  They  both 
looked  at  Joe,  who  remained  stubbornly  silent. 

"  How  about  it,  Joe?  "  asked  Tom. 

"We  agreed  upon  two-thirds  vote,  didn't  we?" 
asked  Joe,  after  a  pause. 

"  But  we'd  like  you  to  feel  satisfied,"  said  Tom. 


280  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  That's  always  the  way,"  replied  Joe,  whose  ir- 
ritation was  fast  fading,  but  who  felt  it  necessary 
to  be  consistent.  "  Every  time  I  see  enough  coin 
in  sight  to  make  a  getaway,  you  fellows  put  the  lock 
on  again.  All  right."  He  sighed  mournfully. 
"  I'll  trail  along." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Tom.  "Then  we're  all 
agreed." 

"  You'd  better  send  in  the  order  before  Joe 
changes  his  mind,"  observed  Merkle,  with  a  grin. 

"  I'll  attend  to  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning," 
Tom  assured  him.  "  By  Jove,  boys,"  he  went  on 
impulsively,  dropping  his  fork  and  beaming  across 
the  table.  "  You  don't  know  how  good  this  makes 
me  feel." 

"  I'm  glad  somebody's  happy,"  murmured  Joe, 
dismally. 

"  When  I  think  of  all  we've  accomplished  in  a 
few  months,"  said  Tom,  "  I  almost  feel  as  if  we'd 
made  good  already.  And  I  owe  it  all  to  you  fel- 
lows. You've  been  perfect  bricks  to  stick.  Espe- 
cially Joe." 

He  turned  to  Joe  with  his  most  engaging  smile. 
"  I  know  how  hard  it  must  have  been  for  you,"  he 
said,  "  and  you  haven't  squealed  once." 

Joe's  ill  humor  could  not  maintain  itself  before 
this  ingenuous  outburst.  "  Oh,"  he  said,  with  a 
slow  smile,  "  I've  made  a  little  wish  once  or  twice." 


BELKNAP  SENDS  COMPLIMENTS      281 

"  Don't  thank  me,"  said  Merkle  gruffly.  "  I  like 
it  here." 

"  Yes,"  grumbled  Joe,  who  had  risen  from  his 
chair  and  gone  over  towards  the  door.  "  It's  so 
nice  and  quiet." 

Tom  returned  to  his  supper  and  Merkle  to  his 
paper,  but  both  jumped  to  their  feet  at  a  loud  ex- 
clamation from  Joe  and  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
voice  which  said: 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

Tom  clutched  at  the  back  of  his  cHair  to  steady 
himself  as  he  turned  slowly  towards  the  door  to  face 
the  speaker.  Jane  had  come!  She  had  come  at 
last!  His  heart  was  bounding  madly  at  the  sound 
of  her  voice.  He  could  hardly  resist  the  impulse 
to  rush  towards  her.  But  he  mastered  himself  in 
an  instant,  and,  when  their  eyes  met,  there  was  no 
expression  in  his  own  save  that  of  friendly  greeting. 

There  was  no  answering  gleam  in  Jane's.  She 
stood  stiffly  erect,  just  inside  the  door.  She  was 
gripping  a  newspaper  in  her  hand.  Her  face  was 
a  frigid,  inflexible  mask. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

JANE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

THERE  was  an  awkward  pause.  Tom,  taken 
by  surprise  at  Jane's  hostile  attitude,  was 
jarred  for  an  instant  out  of  his  self-possession. 
Merkle,  watching  his  young  friend  closely,  saw  the 
faint  smile  fade  from  his  face,  to  be  replaced  by  a 
look  of  blank  perplexity.  Joe  had  eyes  for  nobody 
but  the  pretty  girl  in  the  doorway. 

"  Come  in,  Jane,"  said  Tom  at  last,  breaking  a 
silence  which  was  fast  becoming  embarrassing  to 
everybody  but  Joe.  "  You  know  Mr.  Merkle  and 
Mr.  Weinstein?  Miss  Belknap,  gentlemen." 

"  I  haven't  had  the  pleasure,"  said  Jane,  with  the 
slightest  permissible  nod  to  each.  "  How  do  you 
do?" 

Merkle  returned  Jane's  nod  with  his  best  bow. 
Joe  smiled  on  her  approvingly. 

"  Sit  down,"  continued  Tom,  again  at  his  ease. 
He  placed  a  chair  for  her.  "  I'll  call  mother.  I 
suppose  it's  her  you  want  to  see." 

"  No,"  said  Jane,  coolly  ignoring  his  invitation. 
"  I  wanted  to  see  you  —  if  you  can  spare  me  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Tom,  opening  his  eyes  wide  at 
282 


JANE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY       283 

this  strangely  put  request.  If  he  could  spare  her  a 
moment  I  What  could  she  mean?  Jane  had  held 
the  newspaper  towards  him  as  she  spoke,  in  ex- 
planation of  her  errand.  He  saw  that  she  carried 
a  copy  of  The  Herald,  but,  as  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  Belknap  story,  it  afforded  him  no  clew  to  the 
mystery  of  her  behavior. 

Merkle  promptly  took  Joe  by  the  arm  and 
marched  him  across  the  floor  to  a  door  that  led  to  a 
side  room.  He  surmised  what  was  coming,  and  he 
thought  it  best  to  let  Tom  and  Jane  have  it  out  be- 
tween themselves.  No  telling  what  fortunate  out- 
come might  be  expected  if  these  two  young  things 
were  left  alone  together. 

"  We'll  get  out,"  he  announced,  keeping  a  firm 
grasp  on  Joe,  who  seemed  inclined  to  stay. 

"  Don't  go  boys,"  said  Tom,  politely. 

"  We  have  some  stuff  to  go  over,"  replied 
Merkle,  with  plausible  invention.  "  We'll  be  in 
here  if  you  want  us.  Come  on,  Joe." 

"  Gee,  Doc,  how  did  I  ever  come  to  overlook 
that?  "  murmured  Joe  to  Merkle.  He  lingered  to 
cast  another  admiring  glance  at  Jane,  but  Merkle 
dragged  him  abruptly  into  the  other  room  and  closed 
the  door  on  further  comment. 

Jane  watched  them  out.  When  the  door  had 
closed  behind  them,  she  turned  with  haughty  delib- 
eration to  Tom,  and,  for  the  first  time  since  she  had 
entered  the  room,  deigned  to  look  at  him  attentively. 


284  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

The  effect  was  not  quite  what  she  had  anticipated  — 
on  either  herself  or  Tom. 

She  felt  herself  unexpectedly  at  a  loss.  Certain 
blistering  phrases,  in  which  she  had  thought  to  em- 
body her  opinion  of  Tom's  conduct  and  character, 
by  way  of  preface  to  her  just  demands,  died  upon 
her  lips.  They  seemed  suddenly  unavailable,  not 
to  say  absurd. 

For  Jane,  always  methodical,  even  in  the  flood 
tide  of  her  indignation,  had  not  entered  Tom  Wil- 
son's home  without  a  well  considered  plan.  She 
knew  just  what  she  intended  to  say,  also  just  what 
answers  she  intended  Tom  to  make.  It  was  to  be 
something  like  this.  First  of  all  she  would  turn  the 
impudent  boy  Tom  over  her  knee,  figuratively 
speaking,  and  give  him  a  spanking  he  would  remem- 
ber till  his  dying  day.  When,  under  the  lash  of  her 
scorn,  he  whined  for  mercy,  then,  and  not  till  then, 
was  he  to  be  permitted  to  beg  her  forgiveness  for 
the  great  wrong  he  had  committed,  and  to  offer 
such  feeble  amends  as  lay  in  his  power  to  make. 
The  amends  she  would  accept.  The  forgiveness  — 
well,  that  was  the  only  part  of  her  plan  she  had  left 
unsettled.  It  would  largely  depend,  of  course,  upon 
the  sincerity  of  Tom's  contrition. 

But  now  Jane's  plan  was  all  confusion  in  an  in- 
stant, and  Jane  also.  For  this  man,  who  confronted 
her  so  calmly,  was  not  the  Tom  Wilson  she  knew  — 
the  boy  she  had  come  to  spank.  Tom  Wilson  had 


JANE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY        285 

passed  out  of  the  spanking  age.  She  knew  that  the 
moment  she  looked  into  his  eyes.  Irresponsibility 
sparkled  there  no  longer.  There  was  a  subtle  im- 
press of  maturity  upon  his  brow.  As  by  a  flash  of 
intuition  she  realized  that  somewhere,  somehow, 
without  her  aid,  Tom  Wilson  had  found  himself. 

And  she  had  lost  him.  He  had  slipped  out  of 
her  grasp.  Not  that  it  mattered. 

He  was  wholly  unabashed.  He  was  standing  al- 
most across  the  room  and  he  made  no  move  to  ap- 
proach her,  but  waited  in  an  attitude  of  courteous 
expectancy,  until  his  guest  might  be  pleased  to 
speak,  a  thing  Jane  was  finding  it  increasingly  diffi- 
cult to  attempt.  His  attitude  irritated  her.  It 
seemed  to  demand  explanations  —  of  her  unan- 
nounced coming,  her  arrogant  demeanor.  She 
made  a  painful  effort  to  speak  and  stamped  her  foot 
in  annoyance  when  she  failed.  She  was  in  serious 
danger  of  losing  her  temper  entirely,  when  Tom 
came  to  her  aid. 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you,  Jane,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  I  was  beginning  to  think  we  never  would 
see  each  other.  You  are  looking  fine." 

His  kindly  attempt  to  set  her  at  her  ease  did  not 
diminish  Jane's  vexation. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  retorted.  "  I  haven't  come 
here  to  exchange  compliments." 

Tom  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  his  astonishment 
at  this  rebuff.  "Has  anything  happened?"  he  in- 


286  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

quired  anxiously.  He  came  a  step  nearer.  "  If 
there  is  anything  I  can  do  — " 

His  pretended  solicitude,  for  such  she  deemed  it, 
was  more  than  Jane  could  bear.  She  burst  forth  in 
angry  appeal. 

"Why  are  you  persecuting  my  father?"  she 
cried. 

It  was  not  the  denunciation  she  had  planned.  It 
came  perilously  near  being  entreaty  —  an  involun- 
tary tribute,  rendered  to  the  new  quality  she  recog- 
nized in  Tom.  The  fact  was  an  added  bitterness 
to  Jane. 

Tom  was  frankly  bewildered.  He  looked  at 
Jane  as  if  he  suspected  for  a  moment  that  she  had 
taken  leave  of  her  senses. 

"  That's  a  joke,  isn't  it?  "  he  asked,  mildly. 

"  If  it  is,"  she  snapped,  "  I  haven't  enough  sense 
of  humor  to  appreciate  it." 

"  I  can't  imagine  anybody  persecuting  Judge  Bel- 
knap,"  remarked  Tom. 

Jane  held  out  the  obnoxious  copy  of  The  Herald. 

"  This,"  she  said,  "  is  the  last  issue  of  your  paper." 
Tom  nodded.  "  I  presume  you  have  read  it,"  she 
added  sarcastically,  as  he  betrayed  no  evidence  of  an 
enlightened  conscience. 

"  Not  very  carefully,"  replied  Tom.  "  You  see," 
he  explained,  "  I'm  only  the  business  manager. 
Doctor  Merkle  is  the  editor,  but,  of  course,  if 
there's  been  any  mistake  — " 


JANE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY        287 

"  There's  been  no  mistake,"  interrupted  Jane, 
waving  his  excuses  aside  with  his  own  newspaper, 
which  she  had  unfolded.  "  This  paragraph  — •"  she 
pointed  to  the  offensive  item  — "  refers  to  our  most 
prominent  citizen.  A  member  of  the  council.  It 
accuses  him  of  being  in  the  pay  of  the  railroad  and 
threatens  an  expose  in  the  next  issue." 

Tom  heard  her  through  with  a  look  of  genuine 
amazement.  She  thrust  the  paper  into  his  hands 
and  watched  him  as  he  glanced  hastily  over  the  de- 
famatory paragraph.  As  Jane  had  said,  there 
could  be  no  mistaking  its  reference.  Judge  Belknap 
was  a  member  of  the  council.  He  was  the  railroad's 
paid  attorney.  He  was  beyond  question  Fairview's 
first  citizen.  Tom  slowly  folded  up  the  paper  and 
handed  it  back  to  her  with  a  troubled  look. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  expose?"  she  de- 
manded, plucking  up  her  courage  at  sight  of  his  dis- 
quietude. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied. 

"  You  admit  that  this  refers  to  father?  "  she  went 
on,  pressing  her  advantage. 

"  I'll  admit  it  looks  like  him,"  said  Tom. 

"And  you  pretend  not  to  know  its  meaning?" 

It  was  a  bitter  question,  spoken  with  studied  in- 
solence. If  she  had  said  in  so  many  words  that  he 
was  lying,  her  meaning  could  not  have  been  plainer. 
Tom's  face  grew  red,  but  he  confronted  her  un- 
flinchingly. 


288  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"  I  hadn't  seen  it  before,"  he  said  simply. 

"  I  had  hoped  you  would  be  frank,  at  least,"  she 
returned,  with  lofty  disdain.  "  I'm  sorry  to  have 
bothered  you." 

She  turned  to  go. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Jane,"  said  Tom.  "  You've5 
got  me  going  now.  Give  me  a  chance  to  find  out 
what  it's  all  about." 

She  was  already  at  the  door,  but  she  yielded  to 
his  request,  she  hardly  knew  why,  out  of  a  spirit  of 
perversity,  perhaps.  She  would  not  admit  to  her- 
self that  she  might  have  done  him  injustice.  Her 
resentment  was  still  too  keen  for  that.  But  it  was 
gratifying  to  see  Tom  reduced  to  the  role  of  sup- 
pliant in  his  turn.  He  must  care,  after  all  —  for 
her  good  opinion,  at  least. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  cared,"  she  said,  "  if  you  had 
come  right  out  with  the  charge  —  whatever  it  is. 
Father  is  quite  capable  of  protecting  himself  against 
slander.  But,  to  hide  yourself  under  an  insinuation 
like  this  —  it  is  cowardly." 

Tom  looked  hurt,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  It  isn't  what  I  had  expected  of  you,"  she  con- 
cluded with  a  sigh  of  disappointment.  Tom  could 
gather  from  that  just  how  high  he  had  stood  in  her 
opinion  and  how  far  he  had  fallen. 

But  he  refused  to  be  properly  impressed.  "  I 
give  you  my  word,"  he  assured  her,  "  I  don't  know 


JANE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY        289 

yet  what  it  means.     It  must  be  something  the  boys 
have  found  out  lately." 

She  knew  this  time  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth, 
but  she  was  too  angry  to  be  fair. 

"  So  then,"  she  said,  "  without  knowing  anything 
about  it,  you  immediately  jump  to  the  conclusion  that 
my  father  has  done  wrong." 

"  Not  intentionally,  perhaps,"  he  replied  gravely. 
"  But  you  know  yourself  that  his  methods  are  not 
always  above  criticism." 

His  answer  discomfited  her  once  more.  Tom 
had  expressed  no  conclusion  as  to  her  father's 
wrongdoing,  a  fact  which  she  realized  almost  be- 
fore the  words  were  out  of  her  mouth.  But  she 
had  let  them  stand,  expecting  a  disclaimer  at  least. 
For  an  instant,  she  even  hoped  for  some  expression 
of  confidence  in  the  Judge's  integrity,  which  should 
pave  the  way  to  a  better  understanding.  But  his 
cool  avowal  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face.  She  coun- 
tered swiftly. 

"  Why  not  give  him  the  benefit  of  your  advice?  " 
she  suggested. 

"  Please  don't  be  sarcastic,  Jane,"  said  Tom. 
"  I'm  awfully  sorry  this  has  happened.  I  always  . 
seem  to  be  disappointing  you  somehow,"  he  contin- 
ued sadly.  "  There  in  the  city,  when  I  got  rattled 
and  lost  my  way,  and  now  here  at  home,  where  I  ex- 
pected to  do  so  much.  .The  thing  I  most  wanted  to 


290  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

do  was  to  win  back  your  respect,  but,  of  course, 
after  this  &— " 

He  broke  off  with  a  hopeless  wave  of  his  hand 
towards  the  paper,  which  the  girl  still  held  in  her 
hand.  Jane  was  silent.  After  a  slight  pause,  he 
v/ent  on  speaking. 

"  If  you'll  give  me  a  moment  with  Merkle,"  he 
said,  "  I'll  find  out  what  it  means.  Will  you  join 
my  mother  for  a  moment?  She's  in  there,"  and  he 
pointed  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"  I'd  rather  not,"  said  Jane.  "  She  might 
think—" 

She  hesitated,  and  Tom  gave  her  no  time  to  for- 
mulate her  objections.  "  You  owe  it  to  me  now," 
he  said  quickly.  "  I  won't  keep  you  long." 

He  walked  up  to  her,  took  the  paper  from  her 
hand  and  waved  her  towards  the  door  with  it.  For 
an  instant  she  wavered.  He  took  it  so  easily  for 
granted  that  she  would  obey.  Then,  moved  by  a 
sudden  impulse  she  did  not  stop  to  analyze,  she 
walked  quickly  across  the  room  and  laid  her  hand 
on  the  latch. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Tom.     She  disappeared. 

Tom  opened  the  paper  and  read  the  inflam- 
matory article  with  care.  It  was  very  short,  not 
more  than  a  dozen  lines  in  all,  but  it  had  been  penned 
by  a  master  of  English,  who  knew  how  to  make  each 
word  sting.  No  wonder  Jane  was  angry,  or  the 
Judge  either.  He  stood  for  a  moment  longer, 


JANE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY       291 

thinking.  He  did  not  blame  Merkle,  of  course, 
but  the  thing  must  go  no  further.  With  an  expres- 
sion of  determination  on  his  face,  he  walked  over 
to  Merkle's  door  and  rapped. 

"  Merkle,"  he  called.  "  Come  here  a  minute, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  boomed  Merkle's  big  voice  through  the 
panels. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BY  A  TWO-THIRDS  VOTE 

44T I  THAT'S  the  trouble?  "  asked  Merkle,  when 
VV    he   entered  the  room  a  moment  later. 
[Tom  pointed  to  the  Belknap  item. 

"  Miss  Belknap  has  just  asked  me  what  this 
meant,"  he  said,  "  and  I  had  to  tell  her  that  I  didn't 
know.  It  refers  to  her  father,  doesn't  it?" 
I  "Yes,"  replied  Merkle.  "He's  putting  a  bill 
through  the  council  giving  that  piece  of  village  prop- 
erty at  the  foot  of  Main  Street  to  the  railroad  for 
their  new  station.  And  he's  the  attorney  for  the 
road." 

"Well?  "said  Tom. 

"  It  doesn't  go  with  his  position  as  president  of 
the  Board  of  Supervisors.  It's  a  downright  steal 
of  public  property.  It'll  make  a  good  story." 

"  You  mustn't  run  it,"  said  Tom. 

"  What?  "  exclaimed  Merkle. 

"  We  mustn't  run  it." 

"Why?" 

"  It  will  just  about  ruin  him  in  this  town,"  said 
[Tom. 

"  It's  coming  to  him,  isn't  it? "  demanded 
Merkle. 

292 


BY  A  TWO-THIRDS  VOTE          293 

"  Judge  Belknap  probably  considers  the  new  sta- 
tion a  good  investment  for  the  village,"  Tom  ex- 
plained. "  It's  merely  a  point  of  view.  I  suggest 
calling  on  him.  When  he  hears  our  side  of  it,  he 
may  change  his  mind." 

"  Of  course  he  will  when  he  finds  we  have  it  on 
him,"  said  Merkle  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  Will  you  let  me  try?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  It's  news  now,"  said  Merkle  obstinately.  "  It 
won't  be  after  he  changes  his  mind.  The  story  will 
double  our  circulation." 

"We'll  soon  have  all  the  circulation  we  can 
handle  without  that,"  argued  Tom. 

"  It  isn't  merely  a  matter  of  circulation,"  per- 
sisted Merkle.  "  It's  a  question  of  our  duty  to  our 
subscribers.  We  owe  it  to  them  to  print  the  news, 
to  suppress  nothing  that  concerns  them  or  the  public 
welfare.  That's  the  first  law  in  every  honest  news- 
paper shop.  This  grab  needs  exposing,  and  it's  up 
to  The  Herald  to  expose  it." 

"  I'm  sorry,  old  man,"  said  Tom  gravely,  "  but 
I  can't  agree  with  you  about  Judge  Belknap.  I 
never  expected  to  oppose  you  in  anything,  but  I 
can't  stand  for  this." 

"  We'd  better  put  it  to  a  vote,"  said  Merkle. 
He  walked  over  to  the  door  he  had  just  entered. 

"  Come  here,  Joe,"  he  called.     "  We  need  you." 

"  The  kid  doesn't  want  to  run  our  story,"  he  said, 
as  Joe  entered  the  room. 


294  THE  COUNTRY,  BOY. 

"What?"  exclaimed  Joe. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Tom.  "  I'll  have  to  lay 
down  on  this." 

"  But  he  ain't  no  friend  of  yours,"  remonstrated 
Joe,  greatly  surprised  that  Tom  should  scruple  to 
even  scores  with  the  Judge.  "  Look  at  the  rotten 
deal  he  handed  you  in  New  York." 

"  All  the  more  reason  why  we  must  be  just  with 
him  now,"  replied  Tom. 

Joe  stared  at  him  in  wonder  and  disgust.  Among 
all  the  ancient  traditions  of  his  race,  Joe  Weinstein 
held  none  in  greater  esteem  than  the  eye-for-an-eye, 
tooth-for-a-tooth  proposition.  Joe  loved  his  friends 
and  hated  his  enemies  as  a  matter  of  principle,  and 
hated  his  friends'  enemies  besides,  for  the  satisfac- 
tion it  gave  him. 

"  It's  up  to  you,  Joe,"  said  Merkle. 

"  I  say,  go  through  with  it,"  voted  Joe. 
"We're  not  running  a  Sunday  school  sheet.  We 
came  up  here  for  the  dough." 

"  Two  to  one,"  said  Merkle  quietly. 

"  Listen,  boys,"  pleaded  Tom.  "  You've  been 
bully  pals  and  I'm  grateful  to  you  both.  I  owe  you 
too  much  to  ever  stand  out  against  anything  you 
want  to  do,  but  I  feel  that  you  don't  understand 
this  thing.  I  know  that  Judge  Belknap  wouldn't 
do  anything  he  didn't  think  was  right." 

"  Do  you  think  this  grab  is  right?  "  asked  the 
implacable  Merkle. 


BY  A  TWO-THIRDS  VOTE          295 

"  I'll  admit  that  it  doesn't  look  right,"  replied 
Tom.  "  But  you  mustn't  judge  him  as  you  would 
the  political  boss  of  a  large  city.  He  was  born  and 
brought  up  in  this  village  arid  he  has  its  interests 
at  heart.  He  is  looked  up  to  and  respected.  He 
has  always  worked  for  what  he  honestly  thought 
•was  the  good  of  the  town.  I'm  not  saying  this  be- 
cause he  is  Jane's  father,  but  because  I  know  the 
man.  Won't  you  give  him  a  square  deal?  Won't 
you  give  him  a  chance  to  explain?  " 

The  face  of  Merkle,  to  whom  his  appeal  had 
been  chiefly  addressed,  remained  changeless.  The 
editor  turned  again  to  Weinstein,  who  had  listened 
to  Tom's  plea  with  ill-disguised  impatience. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Joe?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  Joe,  "  I  need  some  excitement. 
Let's  go  down  and  see  the  train  come  in." 

He  took  his  hat  down  from  its  peg  near  the  door 
and  went  out  into  the  street.  Tom  followed  his 
retreating  figure  with  despairing  eyes.  Before  he 
could  renew  his  appeal  to  Merkle,  his  mother  en- 
tered the  room,  rushed  up  to  him  and  grasped  his 
arm. 

"  You  couldn't  Ho  a  thing  like  that,  Tom,"  she 
exclaimed,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  anxiety. 
"  You  couldn't  do  it.  I  told  Jane  that  it  was  all  a 
mistake,  and  that  you'd  say  so  in  your  next  issue." 

"  It's  not  a  mistake,  mother,"  said  Tom  sadly, 
"  and  the  boys  won't  say  that  it  is." 


296  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

"The  paper  is  yours,  isn't  it?"  she  cried. 

"  I'm  only  one  of  three,"  he  answered. 

Tom's  mother  looked  indignantly  at  Merkle,  who 
had  walked  over  to  the  door  and  busied  himself 
looking  at  nothing  in  particular  out  in  the  street. 

"Well,  of  all  the—"  she  began.  Tom  hushed 
her  quickly. 

"  You  mustn't  blame  them,  mother,"  he  said. 
"  They  must  protect  their  own  interests  in  their  own 
way." 

But  Mrs.  Wilson  was  not  to  be  silenced.  She 
had  been  horrified  by  Jane's  account  of  the  attack 
made  upon  her  old  friend  in  the  columns  of  The 
Herald,  and  she  poured  out  the  vials  of  her  wrath 
on  Merkle's  averted  head. 

"  It's  just  what  I  thought  all  along,"  she  cried. 
"  I  knew  they  weren't  your  friends,  but  I  made  them 
welcome  here  because  you  said  they  were.  I  sus- 
pected they  were  trying  to  have  a  bad  influence  over 
you.  Now  I'm  sure  of  it." 

Tom,  greatly  distressed  for  Merkle's  sake,  tried 
in  vain  to  check  the  torrent  of  her  words.  He  had 
come  to  know  that  Merkle,  for  all  his  gruff  exterior, 
was  the  gentlest  and  most  sensitive  of  men  where 
his  affections  were  concerned.  He  hastened  to  re- 
pair the  wrong  done  to  that  tender  heart. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  said  that,  mother."  His  voice 
shook  as  he  gazed  at  Merkle's  bowed  head. 
"  They've  been  the  best  friends  a  boy  ever  had. 


BY  A  TWO-THIRDS  VOTE          297 

Especially  Merkle.  He  saved  me  from  doing  the 
most  cowardly  thing  a  man  can  do.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  him — •"  He  stopped.  The  words 
choked  in  his  throat  as  his  mind  flew  back  to  that 
hideous  night  when  Merkle  had  fought  with  him 
for  his  soul.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  I  wouldn't 
be  here,"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "  I  wouldn't  be 
—  anywhere." 

"  Tom !  "  exclaimed  his  mother,  horror-stricken 
as  his  meaning  forced  itself  upon  her. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  said.  "  It  was  as  bad  as 
that." 

She  put  her  arms  around  her  boy  and  held  him 
fast. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  pleaded  tearfully.  "  I  didn't 
mean  what  I  said." 

He  patted  her  gently  on  the  shoulder.  "  It's  all 
right,  dear,"  he  said.  "I  wanted  you  to  know, 
that's  all." 

Mrs.  Wilson  looked  at  Merkle.  A  faint  flush 
mounted  to  her  cheeks  as  she  walked  slowly  towards 
him. 

"  Doctor  Merkle,"  she  began  timidly.  He 
turned  and  faced  her. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  said. 

"  Will  you  let  me  kiss  you?  "  she  faltered. 

"In  a  minute,"  replied  Merkle,  and  was  fully 
fifty-nine  seconds  better  than  his  word. 

They  smiled  at  each  other  in  all  friendliness  and 


298  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

good  will.  She  returned  to  Tom  and  kissed  him 
too,  lest  he  should  feel  neglected. 

"  You'd  better  tell  it  to  Jane,  mother,"  said  Tom. 
"  I  can't." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  suddenly  recol- 
lecting her  duties  as  a  hostess.  "  I'd  forgotten  all 
about  her." 

She  left  the  room.  Tom  threw  himself  deject- 
edly into  a  chair.  Merkle  walked  over  and  placed 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Well,"  he  said.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
son?" 

"  If  you  boys  have  absolutely  decided,  I'll  go 
along,  of  course,"  replied  Tom,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

He  starte'd  to  his  feet  as  Jane  entered  from  the 
kitchen.  She  had  evidently  intended  to  say  some- 
thing to  him,  something  not  altogether  pleasant, 
if  her  expression  counted  for  anything,  but, 
seeing  Merkle,  she  changed  her  mind  and  started 
for  the  street  door.  Tom  placed  himself  in  her 
path. 

"  Jane,"  he  began,  "  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand—" 

She  cut  his  speech  short.  "  I  know,"  she  said 
coldly.  "  Your  mother  told  me."  She  started 
again  for  the  door. 

"  Just  a  minute,  Miss  Belknap,"  said  Merkle. 
She  paused.  Merkle  turned  to  Tom. 


BY  A  TWO-THIRDS  VOTE          299 

"  Say,  son,"  he  said,  "  I  think  you'd  better  run 
down  and  see  the  train  come  in." 

"What  for?"  inquired  Tom,  surprised. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  a  little  chat  with  Miss  Bel- 
knap,"  Merkle  informed  him. 

Miss  Belknap's  nose  went  up  several  degrees  at 
this  confident  announcement. 

"  If  you  don't  mind  — "  she  began. 

"  But  I  do  mind,"  Merkle  assured  her.  He 
turned  again  to  Tom,  who  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  be 
gone. 

"  Go  on,  kid,"  he  said.  "  When  the  excitement 
is  over,  bring  Joe  back  with  you." 

"  I'd  rather  not  stay  now,"  said  Jane,  rather  diffi- 
dently. Merkle's  masterful  way  of  doing  things 
quite  overwhelmed  her. 

"  I  think  you'd  better,"  replied  Merkle,  with  a 
significance  that  piqued  her  curiosity. 

"  You'll  miss  that  train,"  he  said  to  Tom,  with 
a  great  show  of  impatience. 

Tom  seized  his  hat  and  went.     Jane  stayed. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

JANE  MAKES  IT  UNANIMOUS 

MERKLE  quietly  motioned  Jane  to  be  seated. 
Half  wondering,  half  provoked,  she  obeyed. 
She  wondered  at  her  own  docility.  She  was  pro- 
voked to  find  herself  so  eager  to  hear  what  it  was 
he  had  to  say.  He  did  not  keep  her  waiting  long 
to  find  out. 

"  Miss  Belknap,"  he  began.  "  I'm  going  to  be 
very  frank  with  you.  If  anything  I  say  makes  you 
feel  like  asking  me  to  mind  my  own  business,  just 
check  the  feeling  until  I  get  through." 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  eying  her  intently  as 
if  to  observe  the  effect  of  his  words.  What  he  saw 
must  have  satisfied  him,  for  he  plunged  into  his  sub- 
ject without  further  preface. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  demanded,  "  do  you  care  anything 
at  all  for  Tom?" 

Jane  half  rose  from  her  chair. 

"  Why,"  she  began,  flushing  indignantly,  "  that's 
none  of  your — " 

"  That's  all  I  want  to  know,"  said  Merkle,  in- 
terrupting her  quickly.  She  sank  back  into  her 
chair  before  his  outthrust  hand.  "  We'll  pass  that 
question  for  another,"  he  went  on.  "  What  have 
300 


JANE  MAKES  IT  UNANIMOUS      301 

you  against  him?"  Jane  made  another  futile  ef- 
fort to  rise. 

"  ReaUy,  Mr.  Merkle,"  she  protested,  "  I  don't 
see  — " 

"  I'll  answer  it  for  you,"  he  said,  giving  her  no 
chance  to  finish.  "  You  think  he's  prejudiced 
against  your  father.  He's  not.  On  the  contrary, 
he  admires  and  respects  him." 

"  He  has  a  poor  way  of  showing  it,"  retorted 
Jane. 

"  Because  Ke  won't  do  what  is  wrong  just  to 
please  you,"  said  Merkle. 

"  Mr.  Merkle !  "  she  exclaimed,  her  indignation 
getting  the  better  of  her  again  at  this  audacious  at- 
tempt to  throw  the  blame  on  her.  He  stood  be- 
fore her  with  a  faint,  questioning  smile  on  his  face. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  he  were  expecting  her  to 
acknowledge  the  justice  of  his  preposterous  asser- 
tion. 

"  Your  father  is  wrong  in  this  matter,"  he  went 
on  firmly.  "  And  what  is  more,  he  knows  that  he 
is.  So  why  should  the  boy  uphold  him  ?  " 

His  confident  manner  disconcerted  her  more  than 
she  was  willing  to  admit.  She  was  afraid  to  dis- 
pute him.  Jane  really  knew  nothing  of  the  merits 
of  her  father's  controversy  with  The  Herald  and  its 
staff.  She  had  jumped  to  the  hasty  conclusion  that 
fTom  was  using  his  newspaper  as  a  weapon  with 
which  to  avenge  his  grievances^  real  or  fancied, 


302  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

against  the  Judge.  Now  she  knew  that  she  had 
been  wrong  in  this,  and  she  was  beginning 
to  suspect  that  there  were  probably  two  sides  to  the 
question.  Her  ignorance  put  her  at  disadvantage 
in  face  of  Merkle's  assurance.  But  she  was  unwill- 
ing to  acknowledge  the  fact  even  to  herself,  certainly 
not  to  Merkle.  Nor  would  she  trust  herself  to  dis- 
cuss Tom's  share  in  the  matter,  at  least  not  now. 
She  rose  to  her  feet,  thinking  to  effect  a  dignified 
retreat. 

"  I  didn't  stay  to  discuss  my  father's  affairs," 
she  said  coldly,  and  started  for  the  door. 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  coaxed  Merkle.  "  I've  got 
you  down  as  a  pretty  sensible  sort  of  a  girl.  If 
I  didn't  think  you  were  open  to  conviction,  I 
wouldn't  keep  you  a  moment.  And  I  know  that 
you  wouldn't  want  the  boy  to  do  anything  that 
wasn't  straight.  Isn't  that  so?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jane  unthinkingly,  and  could 
have  bitten  off  her  tongue  for  its  avowal  of  her 
interest  in  Tom. 

"  Well,  then,  do  you  think  it  would  be  straight 
for  him  to  throw  down  his  partners,  just  to  have 
you  think  well  of  him  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jane  after  a  pause,  unable  to  re- 
sist the  kindly  compulsion  of  his  manner. 

"Then  why  not  give  him  a  chance?"  persisted 
Merkle.  "  Why  not  try  to  see  his  side  of  it,  even 
if  it  is  your  father  on  the  other?" 


JANE  MAKES  IT  UNANIMOUS      303 

Jane  flushed,  hesitated,  felt  with  alarm  that 
she  was  yielding.  "  It  isn't  only  this  thing,"  she 
said  stubbornly.  "  He  has  disappointed  me  so 
often." 

"You  mean  in  the  city?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  with  an  effort. 

"  Isn't  it  the  same  with  every  boy  who  goes  to 
a  large  city  for  the  first  time?"  asked  Merkle. 

"  It  wasn't  what  I  expected  of  him,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"What  did  you  expect?" 

"  Better  things,"  she  replied  vaguely).  This 
man's  questions  were  so  annoyingly  direct. 

"  What  can  be  better  than  the  wisdom  to  know 
what  is  right  and  the  courage  to  do  it?"  urged 
Merkle. 

"I  mean  —  when  he  was  in  the  city  —  that 
wasn't  right,"  she  stammered.  "She  wasn't  —  I 
mean  —  he  should  have  told  me.  He  — " 

She  stopped  and  turned  away,  ashamed  of  her 
weakness,  doubly  shamed  to  have  laid  bare  her 
heart's  secret  before  the  eyes  of  a  stranger  — a 
friend  of  Tom's.  Merkle  walked  swiftly  to  her 
side. 

"How  could  he?"  he  asked.  "He'd  lost  his 
perspective,  and  let  me  tell  you  it's  a  terrible  thing 
when  an  arc  light  begins  to  look  like  the  sun  and  a 
bit  of  calico  makes  a  noise  like  silk.  I  know,"  he 
continued  earnestly,  "  because  I've  been  there. 


304  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

Don't  go  wrong  on  the  boy  just  because  of  that. 
He's  all  the  better  for  it  now." 

"  I  could  have  forgiven  him  everything  but  the 
girl,"  murmured  Jane,  in  a  voice  that  still  trembled 
pitifully  despite  her. 

"  Didn't  you  advise  him  to  go  to  New  York?  " 
asked  Merkle  suddenly. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted. 

"Why?" 

"  I  wanted  him  to  get  it  off  his  mind.  And  I 
wanted  him  to  see  life  as  it  is." 

"Well,  I  guess  he  has,"  said  Merkle.  "He 
went  to  the  city  a  boy.  He's  come  back  a  man. 
Give  him  a  chance,  Miss  Belknap." 

"  He  hasn't  asked  for  one,"  said  Jane. 

Merkle  smothered  a  smile.  "  All  the  more  to 
his  credit,"  he  hastened  to  reply.  "  Don't  overlook 
the  fact  that  you're  engaged  —  to  someone  else." 

"  That  isn't  so,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  energy.  "  I  told  father  I'd  never  agree 
to  it." 

"  Tom  doesn't  know  that,"  said  Merkle.  "  I'll 
tell  him." 

"  No,  please  don't,"  she  entreated.  She  held  out 
a  restraining  hand,  for  Merkle  seemed  ready  to 
bolt  through  the  open  door  and  put  his  threat  into 
immediate  execution. 

"  He  ought  to  know,"  persisted  Merkle,  edging 
away. 


JANE  MAKES  IT  UNANIMOUS      303 

"  I'll  tell  him  myself,"  she  promised  in  'desper- 
ation. 

"  Good,"  cried  Merkle. 

"  And  will  you  let  me  speak  to  father  before  you 
print  anything  more  about  him?"  she  asked. 

"  Suppose  I  see  him  myself,"  suggested  Merkle. 
"  Of  course  I  can't  speak  for  my  partners,  but  if  I 
can  persuade  Judge  Belknap  to  see  the  light,  I'm 
sure  that  even  Joe  will  be  willing  to  bury  the 
hatchet." 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  cried  the  girl.  "  I  do  want  you 
to  be  friends." 

"  That,"  replied  Merkle,  with  a  bow  of  acknowl- 
edgment, "  is  up  to  your  father." 

They  had  hardly  arrived  at  this  amicable  con- 
clusion when  Tom  appeared  in  the  doorway.  On 
seeing  Jane  still  there,  he  hesitated,  stammered  art 
apology,  and  was  about  to  withdraw  when  Merkle's 
voice  arrested  him  and  bade  him  stay.  Jane  whose 
manner  reflected  Tom's  embarrassment,  shrank  out 
of  sight  behind  the  broad  shoulders  of  her  new 
friend  as  he  turned  and  walked  towards  the  door. 

"  It's  all  right,"  Merkle  announced  cheerfully. 
"We've  finished.  Where's  Joe?" 

Tom  summoned  Weinstein,  who  was  hovering 
about  in  the  outer  darkness.  Both  entered. 

"We've  been  talking  it  over,"  said  Tom  to 
Merkle,  while  Jane  escaped  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room.  "  Joe  is  homesick.  He  says  if  we'll  let  him 


3o6  THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

have  that  four  hundred,  he'd  like  to  quit.  I  told 
him  that  I'd  hate  to  see  him  go,  but  that,  if  you're 
willing—" 

"  Does  it  go?  "     Joe  broke  in  impatiently. 

"  I  guess  we  can  get  together  all  right,"  said 
Merkle.  He  walked  over  to  the  door  of  his  room, 
beckoning  to  Joe  to  come  along.  "  We'll  talk  it 
over  in  here,"  he  proposed. 

Joe  followed.  "What's  doing?"  he  demanded, 
with  a  suspicious  glance  around  the  room. 

"You're  not  in  on  this,"  replied  Merkle,  step- 
ping aside  to  let  Joe  pass  through  the  door  ahead 
of  him.  With  his  hand  on  the  knob,  he  turned  to 
Tom. 

"  She  wants  to  see  you,  son,"  he  said. 

"  I  know,"  exclaimed  Joe  in  a  voice  meant  only 
for  Merkle's  hearing,  but  which  came  with  startling 
distinctness  to  the  ears  of  Jane  and  Tom.  Fix-it 
stuff."  He  chuckled.  "  Do  I  get  the  four?" 

"  Sure,"  said  Merkle.     "  Come  along." 

"Oh,  you  thirteen!  "  cried  Joe,  lifting  up  voice, 
face  and  hands  in  thanksgiving  to  the  mysterious 
divinity  that  shapes  our  hunches.  And,  in  this  de- 
vout attitude,  he  passed  out. 

"  I'll  see  you  again,  Miss  Belknap,"  said  Merkle. 
The  door  closed  behind  him. 

Jane  did  not  reply.  She  did  not  even  raise  her 
head.  She  stood  near  the  wall,  with  averted  face, 
clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands  in  an  agony  of 


JANE  MAKES  IT  UNANIMOUS      307 

embarrassment.  Tom  stepped  swiftly  towards  her 
but  stopped  short,  just  out  of  reach. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  at  last. 

Slowly  she  turned  and  slowly  she  lifted  her  burn- 
ing face  to  his. 

"Tom,"  she  faltered.  "I'm  not  engaged  to 
Hez,  and—" 

"  Jane,"  he  cried  rapturously,  and  the  next  thing 
she  knew  she  was  tight  in  his  arms  and  sobbing 
quite  joyously  on  his  shoulder. 


THE  END 


A     000036677    3 


